


No Man's Land

by JJBashir



Category: WWE, WWE 2K (Video Games), World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Suplex City, WWE 2K17 - Freeform, Wrestle AU: Suplex City, cameos cameos everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-18 04:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJBashir/pseuds/JJBashir
Summary: The tale of a soul lost in the dark underside of Suplex City and how The Architect clears the red in his ledger





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRoarOfAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Saloon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447692) by [TheRoarOfAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas). 



> This fic is inspired by the brilliant [TheRoarofAtlas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas) ([their tumblr](http://concussed-to-pieces.tumblr.com/)) and their [Tales of Suplex City](http://archiveofourown.org/series/667169), which started as part of the Thirst Party Saturday series and varied drabbles writted about Suplex City characters, especially Seth Rollins. I can't even begin to do the world they created any justice but here is my simple offering to it.

It wasn't the first time you cursed your rotten luck about being stuck in The City That Showed No Mercy.

No. Seriously.

'Suplex City' might sound like a terrible nickname for a city but it was accurate. The place grabbed you when you entered it then threw you around until you submitted to its hopelessness and degradation...one way or another. It didn't matter how bright-eyed and bushy-tailed you were when you walked into its limits, it didn't matter how confident you were in your own determination and skill. Even if you succeeded, Suplex City had a way of sucking every bit of fire out of you and then slamming the chain link gate right in your face when you attempted to escape it, throwing you on your back and blasting the air out of your lungs.

That was the way it happened with you, at least. With your shiny new MBA from Harvard, working for the McMahon family's company--or at least, what you thought was an up and up company. It didn't take long for you to discover that your prestigious employer was just a front for something that even now set you to shuddering when you thought about it. The Acolytes. The collection of weirdos, psychos and flatout lunatics that roamed the streets of Suplex City, lead by a pale man who drove around in a hearse. _A hearse._

In hindsight, you should have packed up back to Chicago immediately after finding out about that.

You thought you had been hired to work in the marketing department of McMahon International. Instead your real job was to fix the books to hide the money that Papa McMahon used to fund The Undertaker and his merry band of maniacal marauders, to make things hard for the rival company Helmsley International for control of the business of the city. 

At first it didn't matter. He was paying you handsomely for it. You lived in a fairly nice section of town, with plenty of cops around. You didn't have to worry about being one of the random girls who came up missing, either showing back up weeks later looking like they'd been through the wringer or worse--those who never came back. But that didn't matter to you.

Not even when you saw one of those cars or the occasional flash of white masks closer to your building. Not even when you caught the smell of formaldehyde and decay near your car. It was your mind playing tricks on you. YOU weren't part of this.

Your mistake was letting your heart get the better of your mind. You caught the eye of the boss' son, let him sweet-talk you, woo you, seduce you into his bed. _'We can take this whole thing over baby,"_ he told you while you laid in bed with him, naked and sweaty after finally giving into what you wanted and what he convinced you he wanted, too. To use his sneakiness and your access to the dual sets of books in order to topple the old man, to become King and Queen of Suplex City. It was such a pretty visual, it was too good to be true---

 

It was too good to be true.

 

You remembered the screams you made when they brought you to him: face bloody and swollen, dark eyes blacked, full lip split, with his father and the Undertaker towering over him as he was tied to a chair. You tried to get towards him, you tried to fight for you both but there were too many and you would never forget the cackle McMahon made as he pushed his son, his only son, into the deep and watery abyss of the harbor.

It didn't matter that you lost your job, lost your home, lost your money, lost everything material that you worked so hard for. They'd taken your soul and nothing else mattered. You stopped fighting and hung like an empty sack as the Acolytes dragged you away towards their car. Apparently you were the 'reward' for them finding the 'leak' in McMahon International.

First couple of years went by in a blur of dark and smell and forgetfulness. They stuck you in one of their dingy clubs in the part of town they controlled. You were one of 'Miss Lillian's girls', even though the older woman and her partner, Mae, found more use for you in the office than downstairs in the bar or 'down the hall'. _You're too bitter for that sort of thing,_ Mae would say often. She shot whiskey like other people drank water and there was a sharpness behind her rheumy eyes that you both loved and loathed. You knew you weren't supposed to know about the arguments she had with Lillian about you, that Lillian thought that you were more trouble than you were worth and that Mae stuck up for you every time.

She did, at least. It was after she died that things took the downswing you'd been waiting for. The brothel was too close to the territory of _the Family_ , the other group of crazies who ran the streets of Suplex City. Well everything under the streets, that was. Shane had warned you that if you were going to get caught by anyone, better the Acolytes than the Family. _Wyatt is a damned psychopath_ , you can hear him saying late at night as you were both working on hunting down every crooked record you could. _You can talk to 'Taker. Wyatt--yeah. No. Promise me, when the Family comes sniffing around, you run._

Except who you would want to run to is gone. 

But when you see the sheep masks at the front door of the club, you make sure to go up the backstairs and sneak into the office. You kept your head down, ignoring the loud yelling from Miss Lillian and the low rumbles of the other men...until you hear a sticky-sweet sound that makes you shiver. _Bray Wyatt._ You didn't even wait to see who was coming, you grabbed your few things and ran. You ran until you couldn't run anymore, dropping to your knees to retch and vomit in exhaustion. _Sister Abigail_ , he had said and you remembered what that name meant, what Shane had told you about what happened when people started saying that name and you pulled yourself up and ran some more. You heard about what happened to girls who got dragged into the Underground after The Family started mentioning 'Sister Abigail'.

You didn't stay in the same place longer than a month or two after that. Odd jobs here and there to stay fed, get a spot in a seedy motel or a shelter in the winter to sleep and maybe get a lukewarm meal. After a while, you wondered why you were even bothering. What were you living for anyway? The only person who would have missed you is lying at the bottom of the harbor, his bones tied to a chair---

It would have been easier for them to take you. 

You found a way to keep the memories away. When it coursed through your veins it left the world in that hazy state where nothing mattered. Where you didn't need to think, where the old visions stayed far, far away.

You had a friend of sorts, once. You would meet her on the outskirts of town at the defunct amusement park. She was unusually attached to the old ferris wheel, the Spinarooni, but it had been a long while she you saw her last. It was better that way. You didn't want anything or anyone you could get close to again. You were 'happy' to simply drift away in the grey fog the drugs made of your brain. It was easier that way.

Until it wasn't.

Until some of Wyatt's goons tracked you down.

Until you stopped caring that they were taking you to the Underground. What difference did it make now?

You lost time in the Underground. At first you were in Bray's direct orbit, forced to sit at his side during the fights and other events that passed as 'entertainment'. You were dressed in grimy cotton shifts, the flower prints faded to a watercolor version of what they once were. You didn't pay attention to the anger you heard when things happened. The names uttered in disdain and disgust like 'Zayn' and 'Ambrose'. As long as you stayed in your muslin covered haze, you couldn't care about anything else. There wasn't any reason for you to.

Until the day HE appeared. You would never forget that gravel and grit tone, the ridiculous swagger in the walk--the similarities that broke through. You know you had to have surprised everyone when you lunged for his throat, broken fingernails clawing at his face, the thin voice that you barely used anymore howling in a screeching wail of how you hated him for taking the only thing you loved from you, how you wanted him to die the same way, that you wanted to kill him. It took Harper and Strowman AND Rowan to pull you off McMahon. You laughed at the red streaks on the older man's face. It was a fraction of what he deserved. Maybe he would have them take you to the harbor and send you to the bottom. It would be nice to not need to think about anything ever again. You were tired. Life was tiring.

The bolts of electricity cut through the air. There was a lot of screaming and shouting. You don't remember trying to find your way down the corridors, pushing people out of the way. You barely remember feeling hands grabbing at you, reaching under the threadbare dress you wore or screaming. You did remember the greenish neon glow and the way your hair stood up on end. 

Then you didn't remember anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about what passes for 'safe space' in Suplex City

You were--warm.

In the Underground, the only places that were warm were near the huge furnaces, the ones that ran the steam engines and powered the turbines. Even in the 'exalted' quarters of Bray Wyatt, you shivered. You'd forgotten how long it had been since you had an actual blanket and your feet were warm. You burrowed down into the simple rectangle of wool blend like it was the finest of ermine pelts. A blanket. A warm blanket that was all yours and no-one was going to take it from you without a fight.

The noise of the opening door had you scrambling up into a corner of the bed. It took that long for you to even understand that you were in a bed. But you wrapped the blanket around you like it was some kind of flexible armor, ready to fight for it with teeth and nails. You didn't really care about yourself but you cared about being warm again.

The face that came into view was kindly and warm. A great, bushy beard and curly hair shot through with grey was matched with a grin with a large gap where front teeth should have been, his red plaid shirt looking like it had seen better days. "Oh good. You're awake," he said. You could see a bowl in his hands, the steam rising from it. It smelled like everything good from a holiday: bacon and onion and potatoes and butter--

You vomited all over your new blanket.

You were embarrassed as he cleaned the mess up. "He told me you'd be sick," the man said. "All that crap in your system. You're gonna get sicker before you get better." He handed you a towel, with some folded up clothes and a bar of soap. "I'm Mick. You're safe here. The bathroom is down the hall. You'll feel more human after a shower." You tried to say something, but he waved you off. "Go on. Everything will be cleaned up when you get back."

His behavior confused you as you tried to stand under steaming hot water for the first time in a very long time. You ended up sitting on the floor of the shower, letting the water stream over your head until it ran tepid. Why were you here? How were you here? Why was he being nice to you? What did he want?

You threw the flowered dress you'd come to in into the trash can. If you had your choice, you'd like to take that trash can out onto the street and burn the offending garment to ashes. You never wanted to see another one like it again. The folded clothes left for you consisted of a long sleeved t-shirt, sweatpants that were too big and thick socks. It was almost as good as the now ruined blanket. You wiggled your toes in the socks as you cautiously made your way back to the room where you had come from. In it sat the man, the bowl he had held now covered with a plate. Instead of the smell of vomit permeating the room, everything looked cleaned and smelled fresh, complete with a new blanket placed on the bed.

"Well, you clean up good," the man said, motioning to the bed. "Here, you should eat. You look like you need a hearty meal."

You eyed the bowl warily, reaching out to touch it. It was warm against your palm and though the scent was delicious, it still made you nauseous. It didn't stop you from wrapping your hands around it, the sensation filtering through your skin.

"O'Shaunessy says that should be pretty easy on your stomach," the man said as if you two had been having a pleasant conversation before this. "Looks like you haven't been eating on the regular, better something soft, lots of carbs."

You cautiously lifted the bowl off the plate. Well, you tried to but your hands shook and you felt weak.

"Oh Jesus, I didn't think. Here. Let me." The man--MICK, he had said his name was Mick, you thought you remembered that before the puking and the shower. He took the bowl from your shaking hands, took a spoonful of the food and held it out to you. "Just take a little bite, I don't want you to get sick again."

You eyed him, then the food but you were too weak and tired to fight. At least he wasn't holding you down and forcing it down your throat. At least it was hot and not filled with God only knew what. You took a taste of it. You heaved a little only because it was so rich. It was the best thing you'd tasted in years. You ate the rest of the spoonful, waiting to make sure it didn't come back up. You took a few more spoonfuls this way, Mick's eyes on you making you slightly uncomfortable...but it was strangely comforting as well.

You reached for the bowl, feeling strong enough to hold it on your own. You ached every time you moved the spoon but you ate regardless. Even though the food had cooled, it remained delicious and you felt a little stronger as you slowly consumed it. "What is this place?" you croaked out, wincing at the sound of your own voice.

"Neutral territory," Mick said, waving his hand in the air. "Everyone pays in--'Taker, Helmsley, Wyatt." He stopped when you curled in on yourself when he mentioned 'Wyatt'. He cleared his throat. "Basically, no faction can come in here. People heal up, either get out of town or build a new life in the city. Some people end up staying and helping out. No obligations, no questions, nothing like that."

"What about--" You had to fight yourself in order to utter the name, like saying it would cause him to appear. "What about McMahon? Does he--do this?"

You were happy to see Mick's face curl into a grimace. "That bastard doesn't do anything that isn't going to fully benefit him," he said. "He's not allowed here, neither is his money." You shifted at the look that he then leveled on you. "Do I need to worry about him coming here?" he asked.

You squirmed more under his steady gaze and you could feel your cheeks growing red at the question.

"Enough said," was Mick's reply. "I'll let The Architect know."

"The who?" You knew you looked confused.

"Ah...the person who brought you here," Mick answered and looked embarrassed to do so. "I shouldn't have mentioned him, he doesn't like it," he said as he ran a hand through his bushy hair. "I was kind of surprised to be honest. It's been awhile since he's been around, or brought someone here. It's been since...." He took a look at you, realizing he was saying too much about things you didn't have a clue about. "...never mind all of that now. You finish your dinner...what's your name? Do you remember?"

How sad was it, you thought, when someone didn't look ashamed about asking a person if they remembered who they were. This damned city. You considered lying and saying you didn't but you'd already spent too much time being called a name not yours. It might be the only thing of your old life you could take back but it was better than the alternative. "Jo. You can call me Jo." It was all of the only McMahon you remotely liked you had left, that stupid nickname that you constantly railed against. "Jo. That's good."

"That is good," Mick replied, nodding. "Nice and easy. Jo. You take your time with dinner. Get some rest. We can talk more about what you want to do next in the morning. Sleep good, kid."

Sleep good. You snorted slightly as he left the room. You and sleep were not good friends. You shot up so that you would sleep longer, stay in the golden slumber land where you were queen beside your dark-eyed, silver-haired king. But the problem with sleep was that it ended and the reminder that you were still here and he was fish food at the bottom of the harbor only drove you to search out the poison that numbed you and put you back into lala-land.

You could just go back to it now. The old amusement park was probably still there. You could go back to forgetting about everything, forgetting about your old life, forgetting about your current life, forgetting about it all. 

Except for the strange dream you had the other night, the one with Shane clicking his teeth at you. _Baby, what are you doing to yourself, this wasn't what I ever wanted,_ he said, brushing your hair back from your face. _This isn't the you I know._

This isn't the you I know. This isn't the you I know.

The words were what you heard as you drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It took about two months for the worst of the venom to work its way out of your system. 

It was ugly. You could barely move from the bed the first week and a half, sweating through the blankets and sheets, not able to keep food down heavier than thin broth or the potato stew that you'd eaten the first night. You ached. You screamed. You argued with the visions in your head. You screamed at Shane for dying. You screamed at Vince for killing him. You screamed because it hurt. If Mick overheard, he never said. He'd appear every morning with a light breakfast, cajoling you to eat, usually armed with a new pair of wool socks or fingerless gloves to help keep you warm.

Sometimes different people came in and checked on you during the day. A frequent visitor was a dark-haired girl with a side pony. She would sit at the edge of the bed at first, or simply pick up the things you had thrown in your withdrawal induced rages. Other times she would just sit and listen to your ranting. Occasionally, she would hug you tight. To both stop you from hurting yourself and because you would be sobbing your heart out. Her name was Bayley. She was like you once upon a time, she told you. She had come to Suplex City with three of her friends, looking to make it big as an entertainer. You didn't ask what happened to her dreams or her friends. This was Suplex City. There wasn't any need to. 

A different day it was a man with soft drawl and red hair who called everyone 'sir' or 'ma'am'. He said he didn't remember how long it had been since he'd been helping out here. He knew about the shakes, though. He always came with an extra blanket, encouraged you to drink tea, stay hydrated. He called himself 'Heath' and would encourage you to stop looking backwards or forward. 'Just worry about today', was his favored refrain. 'Ain't nothin' you can do 'bout the other two. Today is enough.' He knew about most of the goings on in the place, the soup kitchen as you finally learned. 

According to Heath it was much more than that. "Mister Mick, he likes to care for folks," he explained on a day you felt up to following him around on his daily rounds. Heath usually cleaned up in 'the front', the medium sized cafeteria where those down on their luck and needing a meal would show up at noon and in the evening. It even served as a sort of community center, where people came for help with everything from filling out paperwork to sewing holey socks. "It's kind of his purpose, y'know."

It must be nice. Having a purpose. 

Heath and Bailey seemed to have the same purpose as Mick. You saw them much more often than some of the other souls that seemed to wander in and out of the back rooms of the soup kitchen. You kept your mind busy during the day by peeling potatoes, making beds and other small chores that you could handle in your still withdrawing state. It was about two weeks after the worst of the withdrawal symptoms had passed before you accidentally let it slip about your real skill, as you quietly helped Heath rebalance his checkbook, carefully showing him how to make everything line up correctly. Every time he said 'But Miss Jo...', you bit the side of your inner cheek and went over the concept with him again. 'You have to remember that you need to count things you buy with your ATM card or when you take out cash,' you would tell him until the light seemed to come on in his eyes. You'd never been very patient but something as simple as Heath understanding this made you feel a tiny bit more human than you had in a long time. 

It wasn't long after that when Mick sheepishly asked you to take a look at his own accounting. Well, what passed for accounting--it was the stereotypical boxes of receipts, barely legible notes in black-and-white composition notebooks and rumpled ledger sheets stained with rings and droplets of spilled coffee. You sighed heavily, giving him a look of disbelief that he had the good sense to wither under and even scuff the toe of his ratty boot against the thin carpet as you reluctantly agreed. 

Like Heath and Bailey, you now you had a 'purpose' in the soup kitchen: unraveling the rabbit warren that Mick called 'an office'. It wasn't only getting the books in order; there was organizing to be done, old documents to be either discarded or shredded, creating an actual filing system ('No Mick, putting all the receipts that have green is NOT the way to keep track of finances') and like with Heath, balancing the checkbook. 

Considering what Mick had told you the first night you had arrived, you shouldn't have been surprised the amount of actual cash funds he had. But you were. It took you another three weeks to screw up the courage to ask him if he had considered actually making some improvements to the place, considering that the funds were there and wouldn't it be nice to have less rickety tables and maybe put a part of the main room aside for some writing areas and limited internet access for people to look for jobs or put in their unemployment claims. You were sure you'd be waved off. Who were you? Some junkie from the Underground who had no place to go and no value to anyone. You were surprised when quickly Mick agreed. "I've been meaning to," he said, rubbing the back of his bushy head. "So much I gotta get done...hey! You could do that, right? I mean, you're good with all of this..." 

You shook your head, immediately overwhelmed. You stuttered that you probably shouldn't be trusted with access to the money, you were a junkie after all--never mind you hadn't ever tried to get a hit since you woke up. Didn't mean you craved it, that the want didn't itch under your skin but those words you'd heard that first night stuck with you. _This isn't what I wanted for you. This isn't the you I know..._

"I can...help?" you offered."Help you, I mean. I shouldn't--I can't--" You hoped that he picked up on your discomfort and yes, fear. What if something like this brought attention? You didn't want any more attention. You'd had enough of attention to last two lifetimes.

The creaky door opening interrupted the conversation. You'd never been so happy to hear that grating squeak in your life. You followed Mick's gaze to the young man who had walked in. He was decidedly out of place, in his tailored dark suit and monochrome matched shirt and tie. He pulled his sunglasses off and you noted his well groomed beard and the tiniest touch of blond in the low bun his presumably long hair was pulled in. You didn't know him, but you knew his kind. Rich. Moneyed. It would have made your chest tight if he carried himself in even the most miniscule resemblance of Shane. The only other thing that caught your attention in any sort of meaningful way were his deep brown eyes...more black coffee than dark chocolate. Familiar in a way you didn't understand. 

"Seth, what brings you here today?" Mick was saying, making his way to the younger man's side, wiping his hand on his sweatpants before shaking his hand. You hid a smile under your hand, expecting to see the other man recoil but he didn't. He gave Mick's hand a firm shake. 

"Bringing the monthly donation," Seth said. There was a nasally quality to his voice that again, you couldn't place."Hunter wants me more involved with the charitable side of things."

You didn't need to have spent any sort of time with any McMahon to recognize the kind of corporate person he was. This was you several years ago. Before...everything., Really. 

Then you noticed he was looking directly at you. You froze.

"Jo, come on over. This is my new bookkeeper," Mick effused, waving you over. You shook your head wildly, rooted to the spot even as this 'Seth' leveled his gaze at you. You saw something that surprised you.

 

Recognition.

 

You tuned out Mick's babbling as they both moved closer. You didn't know this man, you know you didn't but for some reason he recognized you. Recognized you enough to have the barest ghost of an upturned corner of one side of his mouth as they approached.

"..she's been cleaning up the books," you vaguely hear Mick mention. "Says that we have enough to do some sprucing up."

"It's about time," Seth said. "Are you that attached to the place looking completely ramshackle, Foley?" HIs laugh was like his voice, nasally, slightly forced. The sound of someone laughing at their own joke. That kind of laugh you knew too well. 

You hated him already. 

"I can't do it," you said quickly. You were trying to force yourself to move backwards. You didn't like strangers in your vicinity before, you especially didn't like it now. It was why you spent most of your time in the back.

"Don't be ridiculous, you reorganized the entire office in a week!" Mick said, beaming as if the task was a great accomplishment. 

"Mick, I told you, I can--"

"I can help."

Both you and Mick looked at the young man.

"Like I said," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Hunter wants me more involved in charity work. I know people. I can help out."

Mick looked at you. You were shaking your head again. There was something about it--OK that wasn't it, you were terrified of people you didn't know and there was something about this person that unsettled you. Like you should know him but you didn't. You were hoping Mick would pick up on your discomfort, do what he should and simply follow through on your suggestions. 

"Jo, meet Seth Rollins. Seth, this is Jo. She's staying with us for a while."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories come back slowly. Annoying people, a little too quickly.

You didn't like this Seth Rollins invading what had become your sacred space. Numbers made sense. Numbers were also quiet and didn't poke their substantial noses into your business. 

He came by once every other week at first. Tried to do what you knew was a schtick to get in your good graces. You'd seen it so many times over the years, from Shane, from his father, from others in that world. Back when you thought you were important and clever and worth something. So when he made his inquiries, you shut down. You didn't speak, didn't answer except if it was an easy enough 'yes' or 'no' response. 

"What's your problem?" he finally asked and there it was. The entitled irritation for you not falling to his so-called charming behavior. You'd done that once before. Granted the charmer in question was far better at it and you were more receptive back then. But his whiny voice and demeanor grated on the last viable nerve you had.

"YOU are my problem," you said, sounding far colder and calmer than you felt inside. Inside you wanted to lunge for him and claw his eyes out, tear his beard out by the handful until his face was left bloody and scarred. Like you had wanted to with Bray. Like you had wanted to with Vince. "You are _not_ charming, you are _not_ funny, you are getting in my way and I don't like you. That's my problem. Now tell me what you want to do, go get your whoever's money and suck up to him or whatever it is you're doing here and go play nicey-nice with someone who cares. I'm not that person." You were only putting up with him for Mick, who even with this misstep was kind and cared and for Bayley and Heath to have more resources to help the poor souls that came in and out of this place. You glared at him, hoping he'd take the hint and and leave you alone.

"Mick told me you had it rough," was what he said. You looked up, ready to lash out at him for real when the look in his dark eyes stopped you. Not pity, not sympathy. More like a shared knowledge. Another form of recognition.

That confused you. For the second time with this kid.

"Look, I meant what I said." He continued to speak, but his voice had lost that grating quality that so irritated you. "Well, not all of it. Hunter could really care less what I get involved in but, I kind of owe Mick here and there...so yeah. I want to help out." He shrugged. "I'll stop laying it on so thick."

"Good. Because it's annoying when you make it so obvious." You almost joined in with his wince. It was something Shane had told you often-- then the memory hit you like a brick. 

 

You **DID** know him. 

 

He had been much younger then, beard barely grown and body far less thick and mature. It was an event that Shane insisted you join him at and you only did so if allowed to dress in your usual severe style, hair pulled back and dressed in a plain black skirt suit. 

_That's my nephew--adopted, really but still._ You had both been taking care not to call attention to anything outside of a professional relationship between the two of you. It was too dangerous with what you had been doing, culling the fraudulent numbers and matching them against the figures that you worked on in hiding with him. _Cocky, arrogant little shit. I think Steph is trying to turn him into some kind of mini-Hunter. Probably not gonna work. He's way too independent for that._ You remember joking with him, asking if he was implying if his brother-in-law was that damned whipped. You remembered how his dark eyes flashed, the faint curling of his lip the only hint of what was running though his mind.

 

Why was it that you simply couldn't escape the influence of the McMahons in your life? Or was it that in some weird sort of way, Shane was interfering from the afterlife to keep an eye out for you? Maybe six of one and half a dozen of the other. 

 

None of this new knowledge helped you understand the look that Seth gave you any better, however. "Yeah," is what he said. "Not the first time I've heard that either. Think I'd learn by now, huh?"

You didn't know how to answer that, so you didn't. You went back to your list of things you thought the soup kitchen needed to become more of a community center. "We can swing the new tables in one go," you said, completely avoiding the nature of the prior conversation. 

"We can afford do all of it in one go, why not do it?" he said and had enough sense to sound confused about it. 

"Because we'll put the place out of commision and draw too much attention if we do," you said. "Neutral territory or not, people come looking for money. Others depend on the doors being open. One project at a time." Your voice didn't leave much negotiating room in it. You at least remembered how to do that. "Plus it won't give me enough time to train Mick and Heath--"

"You could do it."

"I don't want to." You hoped he'd learned what your tone of voice meant by now. You really didn't want to. You didn't want to be in front, you didn't want any attention on you. You wanted to be able to hide, to be invisible. You'd had more attention on you for more than one lifetime. Thankfully, he dropped the subject. It was easier to work in the now less tension filled silence. If it stayed like this the rest of the time he was here, it would be easier for you to shove the random memories of Shane he brought up back into the mental lead box you kept them in. 

You went to bed that evening after barely eating anything for dinner. Not that you ate all that much on an ordinary day but no matter how much Bayley cajoled you could only manage some broth and a few crackers. You bundled up in the oversized sweatpants, t-shirt and wool socks Mick had given you that first night you'd found yourself here. Anytime you felt uncertain or out of sorts, you donned the clothing that had given you the first little bit of comfort since--

You fought thinking about Shane most days. You knew that you lied to yourself every day about him. You tried to pretend that you were just a means to an end for him, that you and he were a connection of convenience and base desire but on a day like today, when confronted with someone who shared his biting humor and his equally annoying charms--you wrapped the blanket around yourself, struggling not to cry. You missed him. You missed his terrible puns and quick wit and the way he would paint pictures with his words about the world they were going to build in this stinking city after they'd taken Vince and his cronies down. _I'll build you a garden,_ he would say, stroking your hair in the middle of the night after you'd both exhausted each other. _You can have all the roses and daisies and pollyhocks--_

_Hollyhocks, you ass. Hollyhocks and hydrangeas and..._

"Why would you grow hyenas...." You smiled a little as the tired joke left your lips. Then you started to cry quietly, far more quietly than you had in a long, long while. You'd never let yourself mourn Shane like this. In a way, you never wanted to acknowledge that you knew he was never coming back. It wasn't about the power and the game or any of it all. It was about him. And he was gone. 

You didn't remember falling asleep or turning out the light in your 'room'. If you had--you wouldn't have seen the faint green glow on the other side of the room. You threw yourself into the corner where the bed met the wall when you started to realize what you were seeing: the shape of a man--a neon green glow outlining his form. Wyatt--Wyatt had sent someone after you, but Mick said, Mick said MICK SAID--

"Shhhh." There was a faintly electronic tone to the noise, like the humming of bees. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Then what do you want?" you hissed. "I won't go back, I'll kill myself first before I let you take me---"

"No-one's going to take you back to the Underground." A voice modulator? You still couldn't tell what made the voice sound the way it did. "I just wanted to--check. On you. That Foley is treating you well."

You cocked your head to the side. "Do I know you?"

"No."

You didn't think that your ability to read people was completely shot to hell. "You're the Architect," you said. "Mick said you brought me here."

There was no answer from the glowing figure. Maybe a slight displeased huff.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you didn't deserve to be there."

You supposed that 'confusion' was the mood for this strange encounter. "Well...thank you. For bringing me here." You shouldn't have been surprised at the silence from the other side of the room. "Are you just going to stand there?" you asked, annoyed after the suffocating silence in the room. "Glowing? Why do you glow anyway?"

A chuckle was the only answer you got. Then the glow and the slight chuckle was gone.

 

You sat in bed quietly for what felt like a hour before you realized whoever the Architect was--wasn't there anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything wasn't always roses and sunshine in and around the soup kitchen. There were junkies and drunks and criminals rounding through the place on a constant basis, some looking for help, some looking for trouble--and a fair share looking for both. 

One of the new tables had been broken by a bunch of kids who had come tearing through the cafeteria, screaming about 'the Bliss Squad' being after them. It wasn't the first time you'd heard of this new gang, apparently all female, looking to muscle in on the territory that the Acolytes and the Family left uncontrolled and unattended at times. 'Little Miss Bliss', her chief enforcer Nia Jax and the rest of their band of misfits weren't known for holding to the rules that governed the seedy underbelly of Suplex City and kept it at a uneasy balance. You decided to hold off on some of the other improvements, like the older desktop computer and some of the newer equipment because of them. You didn't want to put it all in place for the likes of The Queen of Blackhearts and The Empress of Tomorrow to smash or steal.

The usual decrease (according to Mick, it always slowed in the spring and summer) in visitors to the soup kitchen didn't happen due to the violence in the streets thanks to the Squad and the resulting retaliations from the more established factions in the city. Every neighborhood was involved, from The Brogue Kick in the gritty Old City that was firmly in Family territory to The Empire and everywhere in-between. The soup kitchen began to double as a makeshift first aid center. One would just as easily see a meal being served by Heath and Bayley--and now you-- as them bandaging up someone who'd been caught in the crossfire. It annoyed you. It wasn't that you were so concerned about people, you were concerned with your peace and quiet. You had a safe place to hide where Undertaker's OR Wyatt's creeps wouldn't come for you. The Bliss Squad was putting that at jeopardy. 

Surprisingly, one of the few things in your current life that didn't annoy or leave you in a terrible mood were Seth's continued visits. With large scale plans to spend money on items on hold, he instead came to help you order supplies for the facility itself. Even with all the goings on, those the City swallowed up still depended on Mick to show one of the few bits of mercy that existed. Now that his grating fake charm had been banished, you found the young man more intelligent that he acted, quick to learn and uniquely clever. Not that you ever told him such things, because he was still vain and arrogant and didn't listen at times.

 

Not unlike his late adopted uncle.

 

You never once brought up that fact that you knew who his mother was. You didn't even really bring up that you knew who his father was, even though you'd seen pictures of the Helmsley family in the days-old papers that would make their way into the center. You didn't ask Mick about it, you purposely ignored the odd looks Seth would send your way on occasion. Instead, you would argue over the extravagant things that Seth wanted to order, reminding him that cheaper cuts of meat that could be stretched out for more people were better than pricy cuts of steak that had too much bone. The lessons you learned from your mother in her simple kitchen in Southwest Chicago came in handy time after time. They even gave you a pang of homesickness you hadn't felt in a very long time. You stared at the phone for a long time, before sighing. You didn't have the money to pay Mick back for a long-distance phone call. You were working for your room and board.

Or, you thought you were.

When you broached the subject with Mick about what you needed to do to work for some money you could use to purchase a phone card, he waved it off. It was already taken care of, he'd said. He'd been putting some money away for you each time you worked on the cleaning the office for him. 'Salary' he called it. "You take it when you're ready for it," he said. You didn't think you had tears left to cry after all this time. You didn't trust yourself with money. It was too easy to go and find dealers to get a fix, but Mick did. It made you more determined to stay on the straight and narrow, to prove that trust placed in you. He waved off your asking permission to use the phone; he did the same for Heath and Bayley, he'd said, shooing you towards your office sanctuary. "Take as long as you need" he said, giving you a gap-toothed grin before closing the door behind you. 

You stared at the old desk phone for a very long time. You didn't remember the last time you spoke to your parents. You had no idea if they knew or even cared about where you were, why you hadn't called in so long. Or had you called while still caught up in one of your junkie hazes?

"It won't dial itself by you looking at it like that you know."

You didn't bother turning around to see who was speaking. You didn't even make a face. "What are you doing here?" you asked, back still turned. You listened to the steps as they got closer, noting how you could hear the clicking of the heels of his expensive Italian loafers against the floor. You defiantly refused to turn and face him. He didn't have any business being here, anyway. He needed to be with his parents, convincing them that he was doing the Lord's work or whatever bullshit story he was spinning for them to justify all the time he spent here recently. You didn't know what it was he was doing behind you until you heard the other chair in the room, a beat-up folding chair, creak open, the leg with the missing rubber stopper scraping painfully against the worn linoleum floor. 

"Came to drop off some paperwork for painting the rec room," was the answer. You couldn't hear any more footsteps, just the 'creak, creak' of straining metal. He was probably rocking back in forth or bouncing his leg up and down. He didn't know how to keep still and you got tired of asking him to. You just grit your teeth at the various noises his jittery left leg made. "Mick told me you were in here making a phone call."

"I was until you walked in." The lie was easy enough to fall off your lips. The scowl was easy enough to make as well, listening to him chuckle. You shivered hearing it, like you did when something you thought you knew was around you. It sounded so familiar but you didn't often trust your memories. You'd seen and heard plenty of phantoms in your day. This was just another one of them. "You left your papers, can you go now?" You hoped he had learned by now what your tone of voice meant, that it was screaming leave me alone.

You heard the chair strain as he must have pushed himself up from it. Now you were the antsy one, your toe tapping as you heard the steps retreating from behind you. You waited for the door to open then close so you could get on about your own existential crisis. It felt like an eternity. 

It didn't happen.

You finally turned around, ready with a scathing dismissal on your tongue but the look on his face stopped it. It was that hint of recognition again.

"You know," he said, his gaze not pointed directly at you but somewhere outside of the room, "a few years back, I remember someone I used to see a lot. Hard. Driven. Ballsy. Used to hang around Stephanie's brother, Shane." He smiled a little then, only visible by a slight twitching of the cheek that was facing you. "Kind of always thought she was out of his league. Never seemed like the kind to be afraid of anyone or anything. Sometimes..." His voice trailed off. 

You couldn't look at his face anymore. You found yourself fascinated with the seam of what had to be a meticulously tailored jacket. The tension was thick and heavy. 

"Always wondered what a guy like me could learn from someone like that. How to be that fearless, I mean. Kinda of wondered what happened to her. After...." The seam moved, wrinkling and folding with the motion. 

If there was any more confirmation that you needed that he knew exactly who you were, it was that long, drawn out and painful pause. 

"I'll leave you to your call," he said, letting that 'after' hang in the air long past it being uncomfortable. "But like I said, it won't dial itself. The phone I mean."

There were ten thousand things you wanted to say. Did he talk about me, what did you think of him, how did you know me...but it was as if your mouth was clamped shut like those you had seen in the Underground who had displeased Wyatt. All you could do was watch him leave the room, left behind with nothing but memories and the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

_Baby, what are you doing to yourself? This wasn't what I ever wanted. This isn't the you I know._

_Always wondered what a guy like me could learn from someone like that. How to be that fearless...._

You sat there for more long minutes, trying to put all these words, all these memories, into some kind of order, to try and get it to make sense on some level. Maybe that wasn't possible. Maybe you weren't supposed to. But you did know one thing.

The phone, indeed, was not going to dial itself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new player enters the scene.

The catch all room that had only been referred to as 'the front' was slowly taking shape as a more cohesive 'community center'. There was a separation, a low wall of discarded cubicles that Helmsley had planned to discard. Seth had convinced his mentor (you had learned that 'nephew' was a term that Shane had come up with to fit the relationship better without having to have a long drawn out explanation) that giving the center cast offs would result in savings in tax write offs. You might have been the one to suggest that particular benefit. 

You and Seth never spoke of the conversation you'd had before you called your parents. Again, there was a level of tension that decreased between the two of you, more of a camaraderie was that built because of what hadn't been spoken about. You both had put together the current configuration of the large front room. The majority was still taken up by the original cafeteria tables but the smaller space was now the home of a small computer with internet connection, a laser printer that had seen better days and pamphlets about different services available like treatment centers and SNAP benefits. 

Each mid-morning, you started the rickety old desktop, logged it on and spent the down time before the lunch rush started helping Bayley check on varied applications that she had logged in for people coming through. The school kids who didn't quite qualify for free breakfast at school had already left with their bagels and ham, egg and cheese sandwiches so you and Bayley could get down to work.

Until you heard a ruckus at the the front and you both peeked your head up over the 'wall'. The first thing you noticed were the bright colors. Garish neon pink, zebra prints, glitter everywhere and one of the tallest women you'd ever seen...followed by one of the tiniest. Cold blue eyes and pink tipped hair signaled the arrival of the infamous 'Little Miss Bliss'. You pulled Bayley down behind the wall again. "You go get Mick," you whispered to her. "He'll know how to get them out of here."

"I can't leave you all alone with--"

"You can and you will," you ordered. It was the first time in a long time you felt a little bit of the old 'you' in your gut. Hard, driven. Ballsy _you_. "Go. Now." You pushed Bayley towards the doorway this little section had, which was hidden by the cubicle walls. Just the way you planned it. 

You took two deep breaths. You knew this day was going to come. From slowly rolling out all the improvements to how you had the front laid out, it was all designed for the day you knew would happen, that this new faction would try and assert their will on this neutral ground that the old guard maintained. As much as Mick didn't like to admit it, this place represented something. Something you were willing to protect. 

 

Now. 

 

One more breath and you stepped out. "Can I help you....ladies?" You pulled the tone of your voice from a forgotten place, not quite filled with disdain but filled with enough annoyance to get your point across: you were neither amused or impressed. It was the voice of someone used to being underestimated for a small stature and delicate frame. Your question was directed at the clear leader of the group, a woman who was actually smaller than you were but whose presence was unmistakable. 

Said woman sniffed dismissively, waving her tiny, glove-clad hand. "I don't speak to minions," she said in a bored tone of voice. 

You crossed your arms. "Good. Now that we've established our positions..." You gave a wan smile at her reaction to your words. "Can I help you....ladies?" You used the exact same tone of voice as before, with maybe a touch more impatience.

Bliss' voice was now filled with annoyance of her own. "Where's Foley?"

"Busy at the moment," you lied. You both knew that Mick wasn't in the building, he was down the street. You stared the tiny blond woman down, using your unaccustomed height advantage for the first time. "I should let you know, I don't like repeating myself so why don't you state your business with Mr. Foley and I'll advise him of it when he's available."

You hadn't expected Bliss to start laughing, and her group along with her. "Oh. How cute. You think you're actually worth me wasting my time on you."

"And yet, here you are, wasting your time," you stated calmly. "Since you don't really want anything, I would advise you stop by later for dinner if you really want to see Mr. Foley. Some of us have actual work to do, instead of romping around looking like a bunch of Party City rejects." You knew it was a dangerous verbal shot and it was very visible on the faces of the women standing behind Bliss--except for one, whose face stayed in an enigmatic half-smile. You had no plans on backing down. You knew how to fight once. It was high time you remembered how. 

You could feel your body tense up, waiting for someone to hit to grab you. It was the large woman directly behind Bliss, making the mistake of grabbing your wrist. The motion was automatic, twisting her hand upside-down, bringing a closed fist on her forearm to disengage her. The hammerfist you dropped on her wasn't nearly as effective with your slighter-than-normal-for-you frame but it was enough to get her to let go and give you some space. You braced because you knew the larger woman wasn't going to take that well; neither was her 'boss'. It wasn't like it was the first time that you would have been hit by someone bigger than you. You had somewhat survived the Underground, after all. 

You weren't expecting a blur of bright green getting in between you and the quintet of women who had looked to be descending on you. But you remembered that buzzing sensation. You'd felt it before. 

 

In the Underground. 

 

The night you had woke up to a glowing figure standing in your room. 

 

The figure now partially blocking your view was large, or at the very least the largest person in the room.. There was crackling --energy--all around him. It was very clear that whomever this was, he was imposing and dangerous. You could not see his face, only the faint glow that was visible even in the daylight, long dark hair resting on his shoulders. 

"You don't belong here," he said, and you knew that buzzing, modulated voice. "Leave. Now."

Three of the women backed up. The one who smiled all the time did not. Neither did Bliss. "You're not as big as they said you were, Architech," the woman said. "You're not the only meta around."

You moved back in a hurry when the smiling woman went flying backwards, her elaborate robes billowing before she hit the floor.

You would never get used to that buzzing, modulated voice. "I'm going to say this once, Bliss...this place is off limits. Don't come back. I'll know if you do."

You wish you could say you were frightened of the sneer on Bliss' face, but you were more gratified by it. You wanted her to seethe; she deserved to. "This isn't over, freak," she spat out. "I don't care about your stupid rules. I do what I want." She made a motion towards the other women still on their feet. "Nattie! Foxie! Go teach that little bitch a lesson."

One of the two women approaching you, you recognized. The 'Queen of Blackhearts' was known for her affinity for pink and black and little cat ears on her head band. The other woman who you assumed was 'Foxie' was clad in a very skimpy and terrible captain's costume. It took a minute for your to see that both of them were growing claws from where fingernails would usually be. They were both blasted backwards like the woman in the voluminous and gaudy robes had been. 

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust after the bight flash. The larger, tan-skinned woman was standing protectively in front of Bliss. The Architect had not moved from his spot. "I said, leave," he repeated, the irritation clear in his buzzing voice. "I'm not known to repeat myself, Bliss. Don't come back here."

"This isn't over!" Bliss declared, pulling the larger woman backwards with her as the other two that the Architect had knocked over started to stir. "Nia! Get Asuka...this isn't over!"

You and The Architect didn't move until all five women had left the building. You didn't want to acknowledge that you were having a hard time making it to your feet. You knew you'd just avoided a beating. You also knew that this wasn't the last time you were going to see Bliss and her crew. You should be angry at The Architect for making that happen but you know it was just as much your mouth and attitude that had caused it.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your elbow, helping you to your feet. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" 

You thought you were imagining that the strangely electronic voice was sounding--gentle. Or worried. "I'm fine," you said. "They didn't touch me. Except the one. That had to be Jax. The one who grabbed me." You avoided looking at him, though it was difficult. The entire lower part of his face and nose was covered in a half mask, like a movie ninja. His eyes glowed the same neon green as the aura around him. The other thing that drew you in was the gentle, tingling touch at your elbow. Whatever energy that emanated from him was traveling along your skin in a wave of sparks, much like the sensation one got when poking the tip of a tongue into the lead of a 9-volt battery.

"I'm fine," you repeated softly. 

"They won't touch you again." You didn't say anything as he slowly released you. "Foley is coming."

"T-thank you?" You didn't understand what had changed in this odd dynamic, but you both knew it had. 

The Architect moved his hand and backed away. "Close your eyes," he said.

"What?" You didn't have time to ask or even follow his instructions when you were blinded by a flash of green energy. All you could see were flashing spots in your field of vision. It took a while before you could actually see again, and by that time, you could hear Mick and Bayley--and Seth? "Are you OK?" came to you in triplicate, even as you lifted your hand, waving them off. You could tell it was Bayley who grabbed your arm first because she was the only one of the three who would dare embrace you, much less this tight. 

"I was so scared!" she was saying, and you found a strange comfort in her patting your hair the way she was. "I shouldn't have left you..."

"I told you to, so yes, you should have," you said, blinking and ignoring the tears filling your eyes as your vision slowly returned. You could make out the concern on Mick's face, though it was still spotty and fuzzy. Granted the fuzzy part could be his beard. "I was fine."

"What happened?" You still don't know how or why Seth was there but at this point, you were running on enough adrenaline that it didn't matter in the moment. It was easier to see faces, connect which one of the men were speaking to you, even with Bayley wrapped around you like an octopus. 

"It was Bliss," you said to him, managing to get an arm out to rub at your eyes. "She's finally making her move in, I think." You didn't miss Mick's grimace. "We all know that she doesn't want to follow any rules. She wants to make big noise, thinks it will get her somewhere." You shrugged as much as you could. "Bayley, it's all right, I'm _fine_ ," you said to the younger woman still attached to you. You didn't know why she was making such a fuss. Or you did but you couldn't handle it right now so it was better if she got off you.

"I've heard about this Bliss," Seth said. Your vision was almost all better, you could actually make out the grimace on his face. "I don't know why you don't move this place, Mick, it's getting too dangerous--"

"Because this is where it belongs," was the answer, which you knew even before Mick said it. He'd told you the story of how he'd gained his stewardship of this building, how he hadn't walked away after his long time friend Terry had fallen ill. This place was Mick's purpose. It was Bayley's and Heath's purpose. Hell, it had slowly started to become a place you were attached you. Seth might as well be asking Mick to fly to the moon. 

"Let it alone," you told Seth, finally managing to get Bayley from around you, gently pushing her onto Mick. "Bliss wants to make noise. Fine. She'll make her noise and the other crazies will make more at her and they can amuse each other. We'll be here to pick up the pieces of the mess they'll all inevitably make."


	7. Chapter 7

Just as you'd expected that Bliss would make an appearance eventually, you expected that you would wake up the the glowing silhouette of The Architect in the dark of your room later on this evening. 

What you didn't expect was the drastically more ordinary form of Seth Rollins waiting in your small windowless chamber in the back when you finally got there. 

He had been in what you liked to call his 'corporate uniform' earlier in the day when he mysteriously appeared with Mick and Bayley: black suit, black turtleneck, dark grey slacks, hair pulled back. Now? Now, he was in some sort of soft black pants and a old grey henley that had seen better days. You don't ever remember seeing him with his hair down like it was currently, in bushy ringlets that gave Mick's a run for their money.

But none of that explained: "What are you doing here?"

He didn't do any of his usual tics. No shrugging, no smirking, no smart comment. It was much like that day he'd walked in on you staring at the telephone. Except this time he took a few steps forward. "You scared me," he said, resting one hand on your shoulder. "They could have hurt you."

You lifted your shoulder to move his hand off it. You continued to have problems with being touched by anyone. Bayley was an exception because--well-- _Bayley_."No, they couldn't have," you said. "They could have hurt Bayley. I--" Your eyes opened wide as you felt a finger press against your lips. It was your habit to look down and not meet the gaze of people you were talking you. You didn't like seeing the judgement, the look that screamed 'fucking junkie' in them.

That wasn't the look in his eyes. Concern. A little bit of fear. Something else you couldn't define. 

"You. Scared. Me." You tried to look away but that finger held you there, blinking and almost shaking. "Don't give me that 'it doesn't matter' bullshit," he said. "Don't give me that. You're not invincible. You--" You could feel him shaking, solely from that single point of contact. 

"I'm fine." You could barely hear yourself speak. You could feel your lips move against his finger.

"No. You're not." When did he get closer? "Goddamnit, you're the only one who thinks you're not worth a damn. When are you gonna let that go?" He was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, catch hints of cinnamon and maybe leather from what you assumed was his cologne mixed with an even fainter hint of coconut. "People care. I care."

"Stop." You couldn't. You couldn't handle this. You couldn't handle him being this close, you couldn't handle that you wanted him this close, your head was spinning and that wanted/unwanted itch was creeping up from your wrist towards the bend of your elbow. You didn't look down because it felt like every single track mark would be lit up like a string of Christmas tree lights. The white ones that looked like tiny drops of ice. "Seth. Stop."

Like you could feel the searing scraping under your skin, you could feel the vibrations coming off him. Impatience, restraint, anxiety, rejection, you couldn't tell. You could see his fingers flexing, twitching out a pattern like a toddler with grabby hands. "Let me stay," he said. "Tonight. I don't want you alone with those maniacs out there. Looking for you." He was ignoring your shaking head. "No. I said--"

"I don't need any other ghosts haunting my head after you get killed." You'd never said it out loud before. You never acknowledged the guilt you carried. That wasn't exactly true; you acknowledged it every day. It was why you used, it was why you didn't care what happened to you. The guilt of being alive while he was dead consumed every part of you. You realized in that moment that you probably should leave. You were putting Mick and Bayley and Heath and Seth and everyone else around you in danger. You could go back to the streets, it would be hard to stay clean but you could do it. You could try.

It was as if he had seen a shift in you, an unconscious lean from one foot to the other. "Don't. Stay here. Let me stay with you." All the scents grew stronger, more intense. You were enveloped in all of them. You were wrapped in his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"He said that too." You didn't know how to describe the noise you made on that last word. You were shocked you managed to get it out. You were shocked you were actually still standing until you realized you weren't. Seth was all that was keeping you upright and you were clinging to him and sobbing. 

The first time you had really mourned Shane, it had been quiet, resigned. This time, it was like you'd turned into a walking storm, raging and burning and raw. He set you on the bed and held your wrists to keep you from trying to tear your skin off your arms with your nails. He wrapped you back up in his arms when you would try and pound on his chest to make him go away. You slumped against him, exhausted from your emotional outburst. You couldn't pretend that you didn't feel his head resting against yours, just like you couldn't pretend that having him this close to you felt good. It had been so long since you'd let yourself feel anything good.

"I know," he said. 

 

You blinked. Had you spoken out loud?

 

"Let me stay tonight," he repeated softly. He laid you down on the bed, pushing one of your thin pillows under your head. It wasn't until you started to mention that you still had shoes on that you noticed his--weren't. His toes were fuzzy, you noted absently as you watched him take off your shoes; you usually wore sweatpants and some variant of a long-sleeved t-shirt and often times would sleep in your clothes from that day. 

"I don't want you to be alone right now. Please." The slump of your shoulders was all the answer he needed to settle himself in the small space next to you. HIS back to the door, not yours. HIS front against your back. HIS arm around your waist, coaxing you to shift just enough to give you both some more space. Just enough for your head to end up resting on his bicep. 

You thought you heard faint humming, a tune foreign to your ears yet it was comforting and soothing. Your felt rough fingertips tracing along your temple and carding through your hair. His beard was softer than you expected as it tickled your ear. You didn't want to crave this small bit of human comfort. You didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve to share the warmth of another body or the frisson of --something-- that kicked up everytime he moved against you. You felt him reach back for the small lamp, heard the light 'click' of the switch that preceded the room falling into blackness. 

You'd tried to move into a room with a window but after so long in the Underground, the lights from the streetlamps kept you awake. The lights triggered memories, ones that left you thumping your head against the cinder block walls to keep yourself from fleeing into the night in search of a hit of anything to make them stop. The darkness soothed you. Ultimately, that was what kept you in the bed, even with the conflict in your mind of liking having someone else in it with you. It was just one night. That was what you told yourself as you could feel your eyes closing regardless of how much you struggled to keep them open. The soft melody continued to slowly hover in your ears and was almost the last thing you remember before falling asleep. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

You were alone the next morning. You weren't surprised. Heath knocked on your door as he always did, calling for you to come for breakfast. The four of you would always wake up well before the sun to oversee the volunteers and residents who came in to cook breakfast and set up lunch and to talk about the plans and goals for the day. You followed what had become your morning routine: using the bathroom, brushing teeth, brushing hair, walking towards the kitchen while rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You could smell coffee the closer you got which always managed to make you perk up. 

But it wasn't Mick standing at the stove, fixing bacon, eggs and--pancakes? Seth gave you a crooked smile, nodding towards the small table where you, Mick, Bayley and Heath customarily took your meals. There was already a stack of pancakes that Mick and Heath had divided between them and how Bayley had managed to get a couple of them, you had no idea. There were fluffy scrambled eggs and freshly fried bacon. "We're getting fresh ones," she sang out as she poured you a cup of coffee and pushed it towards you. 

You took a sip of the hot, bracing liquid, sighing happily at the burn on your tongue. Once you could feel the effects of the caffeine, you were able to look at the figure at the stove with his hair pulled back in a bun with one of Bayley's ever present scrunchies, this one a bright turquoise, an apron wrapped around him and a dish towel tucked in the string around his waist. You tilted your head to one side, watching him pour batter into the pan, running a spatula under the cooked surface then expertly use the pan to flip the golden circle into the air to land on its undone side. 

"I didn't know you cooked," you said, stating the obvious. 

Without turning his head or taking his attention away from his task, he replied, "There's a lot you don't know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank those of you who have read and left kudos. I had/have misgivings on writing this story, based on a world so richly created and populated by another, but I'm glad you're enjoying the story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension finally breaks. It's not very pretty.

You knew there was always a calm before a storm, be it actual or figuratively. That fatalistic view of life made you twitchy as you kept waiting for the shoe of the Bliss Squad and their retaliation to drop. 

It seemed that Seth decided his new goal was to distract you from that. 

He insisted 'to hell with her' and if he had to renovate the rest of the front by himself, he would. He came by every morning by breakfast time. He abandoned expensive suits for torn skinny jeans and t-shirts until just after lunchtime, excused himself to the back in order to shower and clean up, coming back out looking much as he had the first day you'd met him. He would return in the late afternoon, change again and work into the late hours of the night. There was no explanation to the behavior, at least not to you. You knew he had to have had a conversation with Mick about his increased presence, but half the time the two of them shared looks you didn't quite understand. You tried to put it out of your mind.

Well, you would have. If you'd been allowed to. 

It was a completely unfair thought, of course. You'd grown to _like_ Seth's presence. You would even occasionally acknowledge that fact on a rare occasion. After that night, said presence began to soothe instead of irritating you. Once a week, you would both go back to your former routine of sitting in Mick's office, going over the funds that you still had, haggling with people to get them to come in to fix the old water heater or the back grill in the kitchen for the fifth time this year. His chair got closer to yours than it had been in the weeks before. You didn't talk about the night he slept with you, or all the time he was now spending here. You didn't talk about anything, really. But his simply being there was enough to set your overactive mind at ease for a while. 

It was noticeable the few days he was not there. You were on high alert, jumping at every unusual noise that you heard. You knew you recognized some of the newer people who were coming in, and not just from prior visits. You never trusted your memory one hundred percent, but you knew the difference between pre- and post-junkie recollections. You knew that one face from Miss Lillian's. You were sure of it. Sometimes it was a legitimate visit, someone who had actually walked away, was on the streets hustling or looking for a way out of the City. But every so often, you got that sensation that you were being watched and that tell-tale itching under your skin started up again. 

Unsurprisingly, the shift from winter to spring in Suplex City wasn't anything poetic or elegant. It went from a damp, bone-numbing frigidness to a damp, only just less-bone chilling one when March decided to blow in like a starving lion hunting wildebeest. On days like this, Heath and Bayley worked to keep your slowly decreasing spirits up, between their sibling-like bickering and the situations Heath would get himself into with the varied people who came in and out. Plus there was the teasing that went on when Terry, one of the delivery men from the bread factory, came in. Heath's face would end up redder than his hair and he would holler at you and Bayley as you both sang the Kissing Song at him as soon as the older man left. 

You stopped expecting a visit from your glowing benefactor with a certain level of disappointment, then chiding yourself for being disappointed in the first place. If the drop in people you, Bayley and Heath were patching up were any indication, Suplex City's resident superhero was very busy. How could he find time to show up in the darkness of your room when he was righting wrongs? Or whatever it was he did.

One day, you and Bayley played 'dress up' when a donation of clothes came into the building. You usually went through the bundles and bags, sorting out what could be reused or things that has been especially asked for. If they were too worn or had been in the back room for too long, you both found other uses for them whether it was torn up as cleaning rags or repurposed in arts and crafts for the kids who came in the afternoons. There were even fashion students who came and pilfered through in order to find material to work with.

One of the things in the many piles were what had to be bridesmaids dresses. Turquoise, puce, fuschia, pink, periwinkle--the rainbow of terrible color choices of what had to be hateful bridezillas, but they gave you and Bayley such amusement. "So. Many. Ruffles!" she had squealed at one of the dresses that seemed to swallow the younger woman in it so completely you giggled. You both full on laughed when she tumbled to the floor after taking three steps, landing in the pile of clothes. 

When was the last time you laughed? For no reason, not to put on a show or to make sure you stayed safe? When was the last time you'd actually let yourself feel--joy?

"Your turn, your turn, put one on!" Bayley was saying, picking out an icy blue gown that was an off-the-shoulder number with a God awful rosette applique on it and at the waist. You couldn't help snorting in disbelief at the garment. You smacked Bayley playfully as she pushed you towards the little office, not stopping once to think that you shouldn't be doing this, that you were too skinny and people would see the track marks and the other damage done to your body because of your time barely existing in the underbelly of Suplex City. You smiled as Bayley wolf-whistled when you came out, making an exaggerated pose and equally exaggerated catwalk into the main room. 

You swished and sashayed around and even Heath got into the act when he rounded the corner and saw you both, bowing low and asking, "Might I have this dance, _madam_?" and taking you and Bayley through a terrible version of a two-step. None of you could stop laughing. You even stopped thinking about when was the last time you did any of this, you just lived in that moment...with your friends. You had friends. You had people who gave a damn. You gave a damn about them. 

You turned your head and caught Seth staring at the three of you. He must have just come in; he was still in his suit, hair pulled back and fighting the toothy grin he sometimes made. You didn't care how long he had been there watching. You honestly didn't. You didn't question the soft look in his brown eyes or that smile, either. 

"Don't they look pretty as all get out, Mister Seth!?" Heath exclaimed. You didn't know about Bayley, but you knew that your blush had to visible right down your neck and to your shoulders. Now you were getting self conscious about the look that Seth was giving you. Oh he smiled at Bayley but there was something--else--when he was looking at you, and it was you he was looking at when he gave Heath his answer:

"Yeah. They sure do."

This was how the days passed. Sometimes it was the same, over and over again. There was a unique sort of comfort in those days. You helped Mick make his fabled spaghetti and meatballs and listened as he told you about how he and Terry had founded this place years ago. Officers Breeze and Fandango came by on their daily beat. Mr. Regal would stop in on a Thursday evening with a bottle and asking to speak with Mick, often bringing flowers for you and Bayley. You would catch up with Mite, who was now in charge of running pots of colcannon or loaves of bread to the kitchen from The Brogue Kick for for her 'partners' on the days when new souls in similar shape as you had been would end up in the back. It seemed almost impossible for you to grasp, finding something meaningful with others. That part of you was locked away but you were happy for your one-time 'street buddy' for finding that for herself. 

 

Then there were the days like today.

 

The first hint of a bad day were the occasional sightings outside of both The Family and The Acolytes. That never boded well for anyone. They kept to the provision of the building being 'neutral ground' but it didn't keep them from crossing through the five blocks square around it to avoid getting caught by the other factions. These were the days that you stayed in the back and in the office, putting as much of the building around you as possible. Just because the 'rules' said that either group weren't allowed to touch anyone in the building, you didn't trust that some young upstart trying to make his or her bones with their leader wouldn't try. Days like this, Mick would make sure that you weren't left on your own. You knew what he, Bayley and Heath were trying to do and you truly appreciated it, but it didn't stop the itchiness under your skin from ramping up. 

When the school kids didn't come by, you knew it was especially bad outside. Some of them didn't have anywhere else to spend their afternoons but when only a handful showed up after classes when the nearby school let out, that meant that whatever was going on outside the invisible border wasn't any kind of good. Luckily, there were a few who lived within the unofficial 'no-man's land' who came in with news: The Acolytes and the Family weren't battling. They were working together.

That pronouncement made your blood run cold. You knew that only reason that you were still sitting where you were was that neither would break the truce this building represented. If they both decided to work together--

You felt yourself craving a hit worse than you ever had before at that thought. 

But it wasn’t the other shoe you'd been waiting to drop all this time, ever since five women came sauntering into the main room of the soup kitchen--really at this point it was a community center--and you'd confronted them. 

Until today. 

Bayley came running into the office, grabbing you by the wrist. "We gotta go," she said urgently, tugging on you. You tried to ask what was happening but then the noises started to filter back. "Jo-Jo, come on, we gotta GO!" she said again, making you drop the stack of papers you'd been meticulously stacking. 

You pulled away long enough to hit a few buttons on the old laptop you'd been working on, and pulling the thumb drive from it. You'd learned your lesson the hard way. They wouldn't get all of Mick's records the way they'd gotten Shane's. You shoved the drive in your bra, following Bayley closely. It was the fastest you'd moved since running from Miss Lillian's that one night, but it wasn't fast enough. You screeched as someone grabbed you by the hair, the pain making your eyes water as your forward progress was violently halted. 

"Oh no you don't," you heard a familiar voice said. "You're the pretty one, we're supposed to bring you to the boss."

Bayley was trying to get to you, but she was held back; you could hear her yell to be let go and you knew the younger woman was kicking and biting, if the swearing and threats to 'slice your throat right now' were any indication. The only reason you didn't make yourself dead weight to further frustrate your captor was that you could swear that you felt your scalp bleeding and hair tearing out by the root. You were chopping it off the first chance you got, you decided, as you were thrown on the floor in front of a shiny pair of black boots.

"Aww. Did Foxie hurt your widdle head?" Alexa Bliss asked as she sneered down at you. Nia Jax had Heath by the neck and Natalya had her claws at Bayley's throat. They already knew that you cared nothing for yourself, but you wouldn't let harm come to your friends. It was the only reason you didn't spit in her face ot bite back with a smart comment of your own. 

"I heard that you're valuable," Bliss continued, squatting down to speak to you on eye level. "I heard you know a lot of things. Maybe you should come work for me."

"Maybe Crystal Pepsi and Garbage Patch Kids will make comebacks too," you said, not able to stop the words from leaving your mouth. "Everyone should have a dream."

Bliss' eyes narrowed. "Oh, that's funny!" she said sarcastically. "Oh, she thinks that's funny, isn't she FUNNY?" You couldn't help but yelp when Bliss stood up and kicked you in the face. "Listen to me you little bitch, would you rather your little friends be what we use to convince you?" 

Your eyes widened as you could see a bead of red form on Bayley's neck. "Don't do anything she says!" the younger woman said but that bead started to trickle down along her tan skin and you knew you didn't want it to get bigger. You'd seen enough of that in your life. Too many times in your life. 

"What do you want?" you asked, hoping that Bayley could see in your eyes how much it hurt you to say. You already knew the answer to the question. There was only one thing you had that anyone would want but getting people you cared about killed trying to hide from it wasn't an option. 

You didn't get a chance to answer Bliss' demand; every light in the room went out and you were blinded by a flash of green. You could hear Bayley cry out in pain, the sounds of bodies hitting the floor, breaking of wood, the strike of skin on skin and the crack of bone. You called out for Bayley, almost sobbing in relief as you could hear the other woman yelling your name and getting closer to you. 

"Come on, you two, we have to go!" You could make out Mick, holding a baseball bat in one hand, Heath draped over his shoulder. You could see the Architect behind him, shocking Nia Jax and the smiling woman with what looked like bolts of green electricity, trying to shake Fox off his back at the same time. 

"We have to help him!" you called out, pointing towards the figure who flinched when his shoulder suddenly was sporting four lines of crimson. 

"Ro--He can take care of himself!" Mick yelled back.

 

In hindsight you should have paid attention to that slip. 

 

You grabbed the bat from Mick's hand. "Take Heath and Bayley!" you yelled. "They need you more."

"Are you crazy!?" he yelled back, trying to tug the bat out of your hand. 

You stood your ground. "NO," you yelled. "I'm tired of running! I'm tired of--" You all hit the floor as a resounding 'boom' filled the air around you. Smoke, dust, an acrid smell followed. "GO," you said, taking the bat from him for good. 

Really, you had no idea what you were doing. You didn't belong in this fight. You didn't have powers. You didn't have skill. You had rage. You had built up, pent up fury over once again being punished for your former hubris and you released it in a flurry of blows on Fox's back, screaming at the top of your lungs as you beat the other woman off the back of the Architect. "Leave me alone!" you yelled, swinging in a wide circle, looking for the satisfying 'thud' of wood hitting flesh and bone. "Leave me alone, why won't you all just leave---me--ALONE!" You ignored the cries of pain from every person you hit with that bat, until it was stopped. You tried to wrench your instrument of destruction back, but then looked to see who had it.

"You need to get out of here," the buzzing voice coming from behind the mask said. "Go find Foley."

You snatched the bat from his hand. "I'm tired of running!" you screamed at him, swinging again, looking to connect with anything else that moved. "I'm tired of it! I hate it!" Words failed as you screamed again, then gasped as you were once again pulled backwards by your hair.

"Aww isn't this precious." You heard Alexa Bliss' sticky-sweet voice in your ear, and you could feel sharp and cold against your throat. "Back off, Architect. She's mine. You already said so, didn't you sweetness?" You cringed at the way she dragged whatever it was at your throat up and down, like it was some kind of _claiming_. "You're going to back off--"

You could see the anger growing in the man's eyes. "Didn't I tell you not to touch her again?" he buzzed. His clenched fist glowed bright green and you could see it shaking just a little bit. You knew what barely contained rage felt like. You'd never seen an actual physical manifestation of it, though and it was strangely exciting.

"Or what?" Bliss asked, pressing the blade against your throat. "Goody-goods like you won't do a damned thing. Aww, am I making you mad, puddin'? She doesn't need to talk to give me what I want, she can give me ol' Vince's fake books with just her fingers and toes. Well, most of her fingers. How deep do I need to go to shut her up forever, do ya think? A couple of inches? More? Less?"

You knew she meant it but you also hated being right. This was the 'six of the other' part of being associated with Shane that made you want to sink into the hazy dreamland you could pump into your veins to forget. You didn't want to remember. You were tired of this. "Just do it," you said quietly. "Just do it, who cares about them? He's broker than you think and he doesn't give a damn if you try and hold it over his head. He's got that attack dog 'Taker in his pocket, you think you can scare him so easy? And him--" You ignored the pain at your throat as you jerked your chin. "He'll just do what he has to do." 

You hoped that he got your meaning. You didn't care what he had to do. You stopped caring. But the look in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed. _No no nononono you have to do it._

"Let her go, Bliss," he said again. You saw the energy grow brighter, right along with the pain in his eyes. 

You winced as you felt the blade bite deeper. "Or WHAT?" she taunted. "You don't have the balls to hurt your little precious here."

You felt your eyes narrow. "Do what you have to," you repeated, staring him down. You didn't care about yourself. Really, did you ever?

You braced.

You thought you heard a quiet 'I'm sorry' through that tell-tale buzzing. 

 

You also decided you were really tired of blacking out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The next time you saw the Architect, you were going to kick him in the shins._

Everything hurt.

 

Even your eyebrows hurt. 

 

You groaned as you pushed up on your elbows, then sank back down into a bed that was impossibly soft. It didn't matter what part of you it was, it hurt. You expected your head to hurt. Between Fox's claws and Bliss' insistence of using your hair to pull you around, that even the roots of your hair ached wasn't a surprise. So soon as you could move, you were chopping it off. 

As soon as you could actually move without wanting to die, that was. 

In hindsight, goading the Architect to light both you and Bliss up with a few thousand volts (that's what it felt like at least) of bio-generated electricity was not exactly your best move. You hoped that she hurt just as much if not more than you did. You groaned again as you made yourself open your eyes to try and figure out how long you'd been in bed and where Mick had been hiding this fluffy rectangle of heaven all this time.

 

This wasn't your room. There was much too much light for that. 

 

You winced and yelped as you sat up to figure out where the hell you were. Where the hell you were and what the hell you were wearing, because you were in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt when the Bliss Squad had basically ruined your month. Now, you were in a soft flannel night shirt. It was a very nice light grey and green check but you still had problems with being undressed without your knowledge and you had to fight the urge to throw it off and demand your clothing back--until it hit you that your previous clothing very well might be horribly signed and damaged beyond repair. It didn't mean you liked that someone had seen you in just your underwear. 

Your body was screaming at you as you struggled to get out of the soft, fluffy bed. You couldn't help but cry out when you forced your legs over the side, buckling from the sharp pain that jolted up. You gripped the bed, trying to hold yourself up.

"Hey, no no no no, you get back in bed." A familiar voice sounded far away and then you could feel large hands on your waist, supporting you as you tried to stand. "Come on now, up you go."

"Seth?" You knew you were slurring your words. Everything that could move on you was heavy, even your jaw and tongue. 

"Shhh, come on, up we go." You felt your feet leave the floor, his arm under your knees as he swept you up in a sort of bridal carry. You groaned as he placed you back on the bed, the motion of settling down making all new kinds of aches to bloom up. You protested as he sat you up on pillows. "I have some advil, I know you won't take anything stronger, but it'll help."

You couldn't keep your eyes open, sighing and trying to slow your breathing. "What--where am--"

"Somewhere safe," came the answer. You could feel the pills being pressed into your hand. "Come on, open your eyes, you need to drink some water."

The water felt cool, helped to soothe your throat. You opened your eyes enough to get Seth's face in focus. Fluffy hair framed his worried, bearded face. "What happened?" you finally managed to get out, licking your cracked lips.

"Mick got you out of there after," he said. "It's best that we keep you out of--"

"It's safe there."

"You're safer here," he insisted. "Security, and...it's just safer here."

You slowly plucked at your night shirt. "Where are my clothes?"

He at least had the sense to look away and blush. "Um...you were pretty out of it when we found you. I--your clothes were kind of--um--trashed. I got you some new ones!" he pointed out quickly. "Bayley helped, she packed some--stuff--for you--you know---"

You rolled your eyes, then winced. Even that hurt. "Don't even act like you've never touched, handled or picked out women's underwear before, Seth Rollins," you scoffed. 

This time the look was a little more of the 'old' Seth, the one you wanted to smack the smug out of. "Well...when you put it that way..." The slight smile that you found more bearable returned. "No, seriously, there wasn't much. I got the sizes and had someone pick up some things for you. My mom did teach me some damned manners."

"Someone?"

Seth sighed. "You really think I was going to leave you here asleep with Bliss and her goons out looking for you?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Not a chance. Mick has Heath. Bayley is with--a friend of mine. Better that way."

"For who?" you shot back then immediately regretted sitting up more.

Seth clicked his teeth. "You need to rest," he said and reached over to grab a small bottle off the nightstand. "I know, I know," he said to shut down your protests. "Mick told me...under the circumstances, wanted to know what you could take for pain and stuff." He shook two brightly colored pieces of candy in your hand, one shaped like a star, the other a moon. "Melatonin gummies," he explained and shrugged. "I don't like sleeping pills either. This is all natural, it'll help you rest. Tropical fruit flavored mmmm, yummy."

You snorted, then slowly brought them to your nose to sniff. You took a little bite of one, then put both in your mouth to chew. You tried not to feel anything as you watched a smile light on his face. 

"You scared us again, you know," he said quietly. "You gotta stop doing that. Bayley and Heath were a mess."

You cursed him internally for bringing up Bayley and Heath. For their sake at least...Mick's too... "They're fine?" you asked, worry in your voice. 

"Bay needed a couple of stitches, Heath's got a concussion but they both insist they're OK." Seth seated himself more comfortably next to you on the bed. "They are just as mad as you, being away from the dump, but until Mick can figure out what the hell's going on...better to be cautious. You'll see them soon." His hand hesitated as you realized how close it was to your forehead and he pulled it back slowly.

 

You were surprised at how disappointed you were that he did that.

 

"Are you hungry?" he asked; you presumed that he hadn't caught your discomfort. 

"I need scissors," you stated. 

"What the hell for?" You would have laughed at the look on his face if it didn't hurt so damned much. 

You pointed to your head as best you could. "This. Needs to come off. Not gon' be swung 'round like a pull toy again." You settled back into the pillows. It hurt to sit up but it would hurt more to lay back down. You hated feeling this helpless.

"...it's not terrible long."

"OFF." You would have crossed your arms if you didn't already feel like dying. "The next time I see Fox I'm gonna drag her around by her hair, see how she likes it. Or likes having her scalp carved up."

"I'll--call someone up to do it." This time, his hand did make its way to your forehead, brushing his knuckles against your skin and along your cheek. 

The repeated motion soothed you. You still ached and you still wished you were back at the soup kitchen but you could feel yourself getting warm and calm. It wasn't the same kind of feeling from shooting up. You were well aware of what was going on around you, you were aware of the cinnamon-y, leathery scent of Seth's cologne. You closed your eyes. You were too tired to keep them open. You heard Seth start to hum, that tune that you couldn't place but was so comforting and settling. It hurt to roll onto your side but whatever was in those gummies was working; you could feel yourself drifting off. You could feel warmth filtering along your back and an arm wrapping around your waist as your eyes closed. You couldn't help the slight whine that left you as they did. 

 

The next time you saw the Architect, you were going to kick him in the shins.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You didn't know what to say, so you said nothing._
> 
> Revelations begin to be made

It was strange to wake up in a soft bed after so long. The aches remained but they were muted compared to the first time you had come to awareness. It was _almost_ bearable, instead of the fire hot searing from the last time your eyes had opened. The room was dark, though there was the faint shimmer of light through the drawn shades, another hint that you were not in the place you normally resided. 

It was cold and you were by yourself. You pulled the blanket around your shoulders tightly, trying not to fall into a panic because you were alone in a space you didn't know. You missed the slight musty smell of your chamber, the clanking of the persnickety old furnace that intermittently would pour out heat or stubbornly refuse to work forcing you to bundle up in every blanket in the room. You missed the faint noise of Heath or Mick humming past your door as they walked about in the back. You missed the slightly off-key twanging and plucking from the other side of the wall from Bayley's attempts of guitar playing. 

You missed the warmth that had been at your back.

You thought you heard a deep voice in the background, what sounded like a conversation being had. It didn't sound like Seth. Or maybe he was purposely lowering his voice so as not to disturb you. It still hurt to try and move. Sitting up was agony but you could at least stand without automatically crying out this time. It took gritting your teeth and sheer willpower to put one foot in front of the other to manage to leave the room and walk far enough to eavesdrop. You'd just been shocked into next week, you thought that you were entitled to listen in on a conversation that might have something to do with why you were here. 

"...there's got to be a way," you heard his gravely yet whiny voice declare. "This is total bullshit, a'right!? I don't buy that, you don't buy that, nobody buys that. I don't care what you need to do, make it happen. Listen stop busting my balls on this, just--figure it out." You leaned against the wall to watch him pace up and down along what appeared to be a bar or a kitchen island. It was strange to see him out of a suit or even jeans and a t-shirt, so seeing him in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt was--revealing. His hair was fluffier than before and you couldn't help but watch how the skin moved over the thick muscles of his thighs just above his knees and calves as he paced back and forth barefoot. 

You groaned a little, putting more of your weight against the wall you were leaning against. You hated that it hurt to even make a face at how his head turned and his gaze fell on you. 

"I gotta go, we'll talk later," he said, apparently not waiting for the other person to hang up as he threw the cell phone onto the nearest chair. "Wait, come on now, you shouldn't be up," he said, his voice changing from the gruff, direct tone to the softer and more comforting one he'd been using with you from before. 

"I'm fine," you insisted as you could feel him starting to support your weight. "Look, I've been hurt before, I'll get over it." You tried to swat him away but you knew your attempt was feeble as best. You didn't want to get used to this, to someone taking care of you, it was dangerous. For them and for you. "I can walk."

"Fine." He removed himself from your side and went back to his former spot. "Walk over here then. All on your own." 

You really wanted to slap the smirk off his face. Instead, you took a deep breath. You had to concentrate to ignore the burning pain in your legs and sides to propel yourself forward. You were just walking a grand total of what? Fifteen feet? There was no reason for you to feel so tired or sore. You'd walked further than this without remembering, what was a little stroll across the room? You fought grabbing the chair next to you to use it it as balance. Nope. you were fine. You _were_ fine---

"OK, there's enough of that," you heard just as you stumbled and bit back crying out. You glared at him as he came back over and wrapped his arm around your waist. He took you by the elbow with his other to help you to sit on a nearby loveseat. "Stop being such a goddamned tough guy, sit and rest for fuck's sake."

Even through the pain, you could feel that itching starting up under your skin. "You need to let me go back," you insisted. 

"You will. When it's safe." 

The bitterness of your laugh shouldn't have surprised you--but it did. "Safe? Is anywhere I am safe?" you asked. "Is anywhere I am safe with everything in my head and everyone seemingly knowing what it is I know? Hell, how do I know you're not in on it? How do I know that you're not playing some angle, putting me at ease until you can do whatever?" It physically hurt to move away, but the searing under your skin wasn't related to that pain and it never let you stay still once it started. 

You ignored the burn and sharp, stabbing sensations as you made some sembelence of pacing. "That's my problem, I always let someone convince me, 'it'll be safe, we can hide it. It'll be safe, we'll make it work'. It wasn't. It wasn't safe before and it's not safe now. Why do I even bother, I just need to give myself over to Bliss and let her do what she wants, no-one needs this bullshit, they don't care, no one needs to care--"

You were surprised to walk directly into Seth, who had moved in front of you.

"Would. You. Please. STOP. With. That. Bullshit?" You could feel his hands gripping your shoulders tightly, hard enough for you to feel the fingertips pushing into your skin through your nightshirt. "No. Seriously. What else do we have to do, huh? What else does Mick and Bayley and Heath and ME need to do to prove it to you, huh? You don't get to decide 'nobody needs this bullshit', that's not your call, you don't get to make that decision, we do, all right? We care. Whether you think you deserve it, even whether you want us to or not, we care, you got that? _I_ care, I care too goddamned fucking much---"

You were confused as he let you go, his hand moving from your shoulders to his own hair, tugging on it as it was his turn to walk back and forth. "Did you think that no-one was looking for you, all this time?" he finally managed to say, turning towards you. "Did you think your own parents just shrugged and when 'oh well, she's gone, let's get on about our business'?" he asked. "Did you really think you weren't missed? Did you really think that all of this--ALL OF THIS--is just some fucking happenstance? Just--fucking stop it."

 

You didn't know what to say, so you said nothing.

 

"C'mere...no don't you shake your fucking head, come here." He took you by the wrist, pulling you behind him as he walked to a part of this--apartment--that you hadn't yet been. He turned the lights in the room on.

There were boxes. White plastic totes and brown cardboard boxes, each one carefully labeled with presumably what was in it. 'Clothes', 'Kitchen', 'Work', 'Desk'. What caught your eye was the wheeled rack with clear garment bags in it. The clothing--

The clothing in each bag was yours. Your every days suits. You favorite pink formal gown with the little crystals all over it, the red dress you wore one weekend when you and Shane had gone out of town...

"Do you fucking know how fast we had to move when it all went down?" Seth asked harshly. "What Stephanie did, how she felt, knowing? Knowing that her father--that HE kil--it's all here. Your clothes, your stuff, your books. THE BOOKS. She saved it all. Yours and his. It's all of Shane's she's got left. YOU'RE all of Shane she's got left."

You couldn't move. "It--it wasn't like that," you stammered. You took step after painful step into the room, feeling like you were entering a vault or a museum...a display of your former life, preserved in glowing white and utilitarian brown. It was almost as if you had curated it yourself. _A Study of Insignificance in Ivory and Tan_

"Oh bullshit, it was _exactly_ like that and you were the only one who wouldn't admit it. I even knew it, and I was practically a fucking kid." 

You had moved to the rack of clothing, unzipping one of the bags. You felt the cloth between your fingers, closing your eyes at the cloying scent of dry cleaning chemicals rising from it, bringing back memories from a lifetime well behind you. That person, she was gone. She drowned in the harbor the night he did. This ghost of her that you were was all that was left, with her life packed up and waiting for a person who no longer existed to pick them up. 

"No. I'm not." You looked at Seth, with his arms crossed and a confusing (for you) look on his face. Part anger, part pity, part longing, part something you could never describe or understand. "I'm not. That person--she's gone, too. She was gone a long time ago."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"This is one of THOSE things, isn't it?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long three weeks, which included a move from an old apartment to a new one and some illness. I'm also running out of buffer due to lack of time but hopefully, I will be back one a bi-weekly schedule for updates. 
> 
> Also, it seems wrong to have mentions of Shane and Jo as the point-of-view character in this story without the third leg of my Drops of Jupiter triad.

The remainder of the evening was a return of the initial days of Seth's presence in your life, in reverse. He was now the prickly, angry one, side-eyeing you whenever you made a move, deliberately refusing to engage with your few requests. Unlike him, you were used to such behavior and you acted accordingly. You made yourself small and as unobtrusive as possible. It was just like being back at Miss Lillian's after Mae had died, with less dank and cheap perfume in the air to mask the smell of sick and sex that filled it. You didn't like it then, you certainly didn't like it now. Actually, you liked it less now. You hadn't ever had a real connection to anyone there. You liked to think there was some--thing--between you and Seth. It was hard earned and terrifying on your end but it was there. Now, you suspected you might understand how the rest of the world felt when you decided to shut them down and out. It wasn't pleasant. 

The only thing that broke both of you from your respective funks was a loud knock on the door. You jumped painfully in distress. You couldn't tell what the look on Seth's face was until you both heard the loud and muffled voice from the other side of the door:

"Rollins, I swear to God you had better be home! I broke a date with Styles for this emergency case of yours!"

It was the first sort of smile you had seen out of Seth in hours. "I'm coming, keep your pants on, Jericho!"

"The last time I saw you, you were trying to talk me out of said pants." The man standing at the door had long-ish honey blond hair pulled back with a headband, and a greying goatee to match. Several glittery silver and black scarves were wrapped around his neck and resting on his leather jacket. Black spandex pants, snakeskin boots and a dark grey t-shirt finished the ensemble. 

"Shut up and get in here," Seth said sourly. "Did anyone follow you?"

"Stop being so goddamned paranoid, Rollins, you aren't Fox Mulder and this isn't the X-Fi--oh. Why hello there! Seth, when were you going to introduce me to this glorious creature? Never mind, I'm Chris, sweet angel, are you Seth's newest? I hope not, you deserve better than his Crossfit obsessed ass. Granted, that Crossfit does wonders for said ass." 

You were overwhelmed and shocked but still you couldn't help but smile at this outrageous stranger, even as he took your hand without asking and kissed your knuckles. 

"Your 'emergency case'," Seth added. The look on his face was exasperation and--what? "She wants her hair cut off."

"Psh, for what, they're all perfect." He set the black case you just noticed down. "Do you really want to cut ALL that pretty hair off?" he asked you. "My GOD, you're a natural blonde! Where has this beautiful unicorn been all my life, do you know how much I could make if I could recreate this color?" For all you hated to be touched, poked and prodded, you didn't make a face or so much as wince as this outrageous person inspected a lock of what you considered limp and not well cared for hair, looking at it as if it were a diamond or other precious gemstone. "Seriously, you want it cut?"

You nodded gingerly. "Don't like it pulled on."

Chris turned his head. You assumed that the look he was giving Seth wasn't exactly a nice one if the way they younger man held his hands up and waved them around were any indication.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you perv, it ain't like that!" Seth was sputtering and you swore he was turning red. It was--somewhat charming. 

"It's not? Damn, you're losing your touch then, aren't you?"

Why did this person make you smile? "No," you said. "It's really not. Yes. I really do. Want it off. The hair pulling was not good." You tried not to grimace when you shrugged. You didn't want to have to explain why you were doing it. 

Chris for his part, sighed. "Oh well, I tried. Come over here, sweetheart, let me get a good look at your head."

You looked at Seth. 

"Um...he's a hairdresser. Amongst other things," he explained. "You said, you wanted to cut your hair, you're not really in any condition to go--out. So..." He was picking at the cuticle of his thumbnail and his eyes were firmly planted towards his feet.

You did cringe as you could feel Chris' fingertips smooth along your scalp. For the first time since his arrival, he was quiet. The itching under your skin started, like it always did when you were under scrutiny and expecting the worst. You tried to stay still and your bit your bottom lip when you could feel him touch one of the scratches that Fox had left on you.

"This is one of THOSE things, isn't it?"

You didn't know how to answer that question but it turned out that you didn't have to.

"Yeah," Seth said. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"You're right, I don't. I deal with this enough with Reigns." You could finally see Chris again as he moved from behind you but if there was any judgement on you he had, it didn't show in his demeanor. "Since you're convinced you want it all off," he said directly to you, "let me explain what I think we should do."

You'd never been one to be overly concerned with your hair. When you were working, you tended to wear it in a severely tight chignon or low ponytail. As long as it was neat and presentable, you didn't care much about specific cuts or specialty treatments. You customarily spent a grand total of $75 once a month on a haircut and blowout at the local chain haircut shack. Of late, whatever shampoo and conditioner were available was fine. For a long while all you had was cheap soap and water. You made do with what you had. What Chris Jericho was describing was much more than you'd ever dealt with and sounded like Greek, Latin and Chinese all mixed together:

"You've got a beautiful head," he started, "and your hair is thick but this time you're right. It's so damaged! So, plan of attack: we're gonna start with a coconut water cleanser and a rose clay deep conditioner to get some moisture back in those golden tresses. Then we'll give you a bit of a pixie cut, little longer in the front to show off some of that glorious color but get this dead length off." He tilted his head in contemplation. "Maybe pre-wash, we'll get you in a bit of a facial, you look at little dull in the cheeks, sweetheart." He gave you a smile, one that you couldn't help but return. "Rollins, we're going to need that massive bathroom of yours."

"Huh wait WHAT? Oh nah nah nah..."

Chris waved off his protests, giving you a wink. "He's just greedy, he hates sharing."

It was easily the most extravagant three hours you'd spent in your life. Chris Jericho was loud, brash, unapologetically flamboyant and at the same time, kind and gentle. After he had rubbed your entire head with a pink, rose-scented goop and wrapped it up in an old fashioned heating cap the likes you hadn't seen since you were at your grandmother's house when you were six, he started in on your face with a mini kit of products, rubbing and spritzing while the conditioner did its work. 

He was originally from Canada, had learned his trade while being a roadie for terrible rock bands and shacking up with varied strippers, drag queens and kings and a show girl or three. By the time he'd decided to attempt to start a shop, he'd gone around the country at least three times, had his heart broken (and broke a few himself) and found a new calling. He tended bar at 'The Empire' to make ends meet as he got his name out there. He also offered to show you pictures of Seth in his 'club rat days' which earned him a vicious glare from the man in question. 

You alternately became 'sweetheart', 'sweet angel', 'darling', 'love' and a dozen other pet names as he washed the cleansers off your face, then instructed you to lean your head back, using the massive tub in the bathroom as a makeshift salon station. It was being pampered, an action you railed against but in Jericho's expert hands, you accepted it. You also enjoyed Seth's sputtering as he was ordered around, being told to fetch you drinks and snacks, a cushion for your back and other comforts. "The next time we do this, I'll be at a proper salon," Chris said as he put the cushion at your back, then draped a cape around you. "I'll give you the full treatment."

"He's just doing all this to show off," Seth said sourly. 

"You're just mad that I'm the one showing the lady a good time," Chris shot back. "He's also miffed because he knows I'm giving you the chocolate covered strawberries afterwards." 

You smiled, more due to the banter than the promise of treats. The entire experience had been a treat. Even the aching soreness that felt like it was now settled in your bones had lessened under Chris' careful attention. After the hours of tense silence between you and Seth, it was a relief to not be on guard as you had been. 

"All right, darling, take a look." The hairdressing cape was removed with a flourish, and you were turned towards the mirror over the bathroom vanity. You could feel a soft brush being swept along the bare skin around your neck. "It's not my best work, but under the circumstances it's pretty damned good."

You had bangs. You'd never really been a bangs type of person but these were asymmetrical, cut on a bias and longer on the left side. It was like you had a single long lock covering one eye, but the rest of your hair was definitely cut shorter. The top looked a little punky and spiky, but the mid-shoulder length you'd always had was gone. You turned your head to the side, to see how the back was trimmed close to the back of your head, getting only a little longer at the very top of your head, which then cascaded down to the overly long bangs.

"I--like it." you reached your hand back, trying to see if you could be grabbed by the hair again. It was still possible, but much more difficult from the back. If Fox or Natalya wanted to drag you around, they'd have to come at you from the front. Or sink those brutally long claws directly in your head. Either wouldn't end well for them. "Thank you." You touched your hair again, surprised at how soft it felt compared to before Jericho had started. 

"It'll be easier for you to take care of too," Chris said. "Now, presents!" He set jars and bottles on the vanity, chattering as he did. "Coconut Water cleanser, once a week. Deep conditioner, every other week. Just a pea-sized dollop of the pomade while your hair is damp, work it in from back to front, give a few scrunches with your fingers and poof, good to go! Annnnnd..." A red box with a frilly bow appeared. "Four of the very best chocolate covered strawberries known to man. Complementary, every client gets them for their very first sesh with me. You're welcome." He leaned down and kissed your cheek. 

You dared a glance at Seth; his face was red and his left hand was doing the grabby hand thing you'd only seen once before. But you also noticed something else that made you think that maybe there was something funky about whatever it what Chris had used in your hair because you swore you could see a faint hint of neon green dancing around his fingers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all out now.

Chris had made you promise to take better care of your hair, to come down to The Empire to visit him and let him make you a drink ''when you're up to it, sweet angel'. The latter of the two statements caused something of a disagreement between your newly discovered hairdresser and your de facto host. Well, 'disagreement' was an understatement. There was a fair amount of swearing, yelling and Jericho giving Seth a hard look, telling him to 'get the fuck over yourself and hash shit out with your brothers, asshole, stop taking it out on everyone else.' 

For you, there was nothing but a kiss on the cheek and a gentle chiding to call him in three weeks to check in and set up another home appointment. He smiled when you told him you didn't live here. "Good. Then I don't have to see this grumpy gus again," he said. "You go get rest and feel better." You watched him give Seth another look. "It's on the house, Rollins...as long as you get your shit in order. Got it?"

The silence in the room went back to strained almost the moment the door closed.

You didn't know what else to do, except stand there with your new haircut and on legs still wobbly and burning. The experience did help. You had needed something besides what had been before Jericho had been there, and you didn't want it to go back. You poked your tongue against your inner cheek and ran it along your teeth, something you did when you were thinking on a problem. "I'm hungry," you declared after more silence.

"Huh?"

"Hungry. Food. You know." You rubbed your stomach. "You asked before. I didn't answer. I'm hungry, yes. I mean, just because you don't use this place all the time, I don't believe you don't have food here somewhere." You smiled a little bit at his startled face. "It's too neat. The furniture's too new. Your bathroom is too neat." You shrugged, a habit even though you knew it would hurt. "I observe things. Kinda what I do."

Seth was quiet for a little while, then moved over to a drawer in the kitchen. "I hope you like Thai," he said, pushing the menu towards you. 

He didn't need to know the pang of hurt that simple statement made. _You and your Midwesterners palette..._

You pointed to _gai yang_ as he dialed the number. You tried not to think about eating said gai yang and pad thai with the sweet and creamy orange tea that had the faintly floral scent but was so delicious--

You winced at the hand that landed on your shoulder. Then your eyes opened wide, painfully so.

The shirt you wore didn't cover your neck completely. Most of his hand was on top of the flannel but his pinky was pressed against bare skin. It felt familiar. Like the sensation of sticking the tip of your tongue in a 9-volt battery. 

 

Tingling. 

That metallic taste on the tip of your tongue. 

Sparking moving along your shoulder and up your neck in waves. 

The hint of neon green you thought you was dancing between Seth's fingers before. 

_"Ro--He can take care of himself!"_

_Did you really think you weren't missed? Did you really think that all of this--ALL OF THIS--is just some fucking happenstance?_

 

It hurt so much to move but a promise was a promise. 

 

You kicked Seth in the nearest leg. You thought it might have hurt you more than it hurt him. 

"OW! WHAT THE _FUCK_!?" It would be comical under any other circumstances, watching him hop around on one leg.

"When were you going to tell me?" you demanded.

"Tell you WHAT?"

"Don't fucking play coy, Seth! Or should I call you 'The Architect'?"

The silence in the room was deafening, thick and heavy. You could see the way Seth's brows were furrowed. "OK I'm starting to think that--"

"You've been there right after he was," you pointed out. "The first time HE came to my room. The next time you did. I wondered why he didn't. But how could he, when he was already there? How did you get there so fast after Bliss came the first time? Or be there this time, right after? Observations. I might be a junkie but I've been off the stuff for long enough now. I should have connected all of those coincidences. God, how could I be so STUPID?" 

God, you really _had_ been stupid. And all this--this--Stephanie." Your eyes widened. "She put you up to this. Get my trust so she can finish off what Daddy started." It all fell into place after you said that. _Your clothes, your stuff, your books. THE BOOKS. She saved it all._ You moved to push yourself out of the chair you were in. You were in danger. Any second, HE was going to come through that door and--

"WAIT, wait, wait a minute--just--WAIT!" Seth's voice was panicked, he held his hands up as he moved in front of you, waving them wildly. "Ok, OK! If I tell you, promise you won't go, please promise me you won't go? I'll tell you everything!" 

It would be easy to think that was just another part of this clearly long con but there was something else that made you settle back painfully in your seat. _This wasn't what I ever wanted, baby..._ "Talk," you mumbled, trying to find a place where you could be comfortable. 

"Can I--try something?" You would never get used to soft and gentle voiced Seth but you nodded your ascent as he sat next to you, hands still outstretched. His hands were glowing--a paler, softer green than the bright neon you associated with 'the Architect'. He let them hover over your leg. The pain subsided. It was as if you could see tendrils of energy being pulled from you and back into his hands. 

"This is easier to do when you're asleep," he said. "The energy it--doesn't go anywhere. Not for a long time. I can--call it back." He wasn't looking at you while he moved his hands back and forth, letting his dark hair cover his face to avoid your gaze. You felt the pain subside, that terrible, burning sensation lessen. But there was still an intense concentration of pain, very close to where his hands hovered and where you watched pale green sparks travel up, gapping the space between your leg and his fingertips.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting: finally settling in after a move and blowing through my buffer meant a little more time than I would have liked has passed. Thanks for hanging in there.

It took almost half an hour for you to be able to sit in comfort for the first time in nearly a day. There were aches, yes, but nothing like before. 

A knock again interrupted the uncomfortable silence. Seth couldn't jump the back of the sofa fast enough, even as he implored you with a look to stay there. It was the food. When the door opened you caught a whiff of the scents and your stomach grumbled loudly. "Traitor," you mumbled to the unruly organ. 

The silence returned as bags were opened, plates and cutlery were laid out on the bar area adjacent to the kitchen. You both ate, only the sounds of chewing and the occasional slurp on a straw breaking the stillness in the room. You had a plethora of questions, your mind moving far faster than your hands or your mouth as you methodically chewed each bite of chicken and rice, every sip of sweet, creamy tea. 

You wondered what lies he would concoct to explain away his motives. That was the one thing at the forefront of your mind. Everything in this 'relationship' he had forged with you was based on a fundamental lie: he'd always known who you were. Part of you knew and accepted that, but you'd willfully ignored it. But it was out in the open now. He knew you. He'd known you. He'd known you from the moment you saw him standing over you in the dank and dark of the Underground what felt like eons ago. Ever since---you trusted no-one and nothing. Well, if you didn't count Mick. And Bayley. And Heath.

(And Seth but you weren't in the headspace to admit that right now, not with all of this now out in the open.)

It was strange, the domestic pattern you both fell in at the moment. You both busied yourselves with cleaning up the dinner dishes, Seth packaging up the leftovers and placing them in the fridge while you rinsed your dirty plates and glasses, placed them in the dishwasher, still without words being spoken. You'd promised you wouldn't run until he'd given his explanation. You should hope that he believed you a creature of your word but you didn't exactly blame him for glancing at the door every so often. 

It could have been an hour, it could have been ten minutes. You no longer had a frame of reference when it came to time and how it passed while you were here. You stopped trying to figure it out as you finally seated yourself on the sofa that not that long ago you found almost unbearable to stay still on due to pain and anxiousness. You bounced your knee up and down though, a visible sign of your apprehension and to keep yourself aware, ready to run if need be. 

"I don't need or want an origin story," you stated. "I don't care how you do what you do, I just--why you saved me from the Underground." You watched Seth's reaction to your statement; the relief in his shoulders. It wasn't that you weren't curious, because you were. Wildly so. But it wasn't pertinent to the current situation. You didn't have time for a 'well one day I was walking down the street and I was bit by whatever radioactive insect or creature gave you the ability to shoot electric bolts' tale. 

"Why." The word was repeated and he looked away from you, off into the distance in to the grand expanse of the kitchen. As if the microwave door could give him so sort of answer to the question you've asked. You snorted at the thought. His gaze settled back on you. You shut your mouth. 

"I...always had a thing. For you," he finally said. "I was a kid when I first saw you. I bet you don't even remember me, it was some gala that ---well, some big McMahon function. Asked Stephanie who you were. She didn't really answer me. Then--all the shit hit the fan."

You didn't need an extended explanation, just the one that found you here and now. 

"Hunter--Stephanie's husband--he and Vince have been at odds for years," Seth continued. "Hunter found me, brought me here to be sort of--an alternative, to Vince's--freaks. I had been fighting them. With my--team."

There was another story in that pause. One that you suspected had something to do with the admonition that Chris had made out of the door: _hash shit out with your brothers, asshole_.

"But when Shane--when Vince did--"

You sighed loudly. "When Vince pushed his son into the harbor tied to a folding chair with blocks on the end of them," you said, your voice hard and bitterly brittle. "When Vince KILLED his son. I know what happened. I remember. I was _there_." You were there but you'd never said the words out loud like this before. 

"I know. So was I. I was too late."

 

And everything you thought you knew about the world, your place in it, and how you got to this point was turned right onto its head. 

 

"Stephanie begged," he continued. "She begged me to stop it. She was convinced that it wasn't going to happen, but even so, I needed to get her brother out of there, get you out of there. But I got caught up with the Acolytes and--my team--my---they paid the price. I saw what--he did. How they dragged you off." The pause was again long and heavy. "Kind of went off the rails for a while. Spent a lot of time fighting the Acolytes, fighting the Family."

He continued: "They were always one step ahead of me. Everytime I found out about where you were, either they were already there and you were gone, or you were just gone. In the meantime, Stephanie learned what her brother had been doing. He'd sent her a copy of everything. In case 'things got ugly' the message had said." Seth ran his hand through his hair. "I don't understand how he could have been found out. Shane wasn't careless. Neither were you. I checked everything."

Your head tilted to the side. 

"Stephanie sure as shit didn't know. She was kind of proud of him, really, but--" Seth sighed again. "I thought I had another lead on you, but I got run off by Rowan and Harper, those two freaks. All the leads dried up until a few months ago. " Finally, he was able to look you in the eye. "One of Wyatt's goons, he mentioned that he thought that 'Sister Abigail' being around would make Wyatt let off a little."

You shuddered. You wished your memories of the Underground were consistently foggy. They weren't. Especially the ones about your being all but chained to Bray Wyatt's side. You wanted to forget that sibilant voice, muttering about how the 'games' before you were his gift to you, how he always knew you'd come back to him. The moments when he beat you because of course he knew you weren't really _her_ but he'd make you play the part for him, he would. The threats to give you to Rowan or Harper or Strowman--"for sport, my darlin', you'd make such good sport..."

You gasped, curling in on yourself. You'd never let yourself feel these things, these memories. You'd used the drugs to make them fade, you'd used them to send you to a place where you could pretend those things didn't happen, where you couldn't smell the overly sweet and rotten stench of him close to you. Where you could pretend that it was the person you wanted to be close to you there, not this bloated, maniacal--

"Hey...hey, shhh, it's OK. Hey." You hadn't noticed Seth moving to your side, closing the distance between the two of you that he'd imposed for hours. His scent enveloped you again, cinnamon and leather and something else you couldn't define and you buried your head in the crook of his neck, trembling and near tears. You itched. You needed something, you needed anything to stop the memories, to make them stop, to make it all stop

"I've got you," he kept saying over and over. "I've got you, it's ok, I'm right here."

You could feel his fingers smoothing along the back of your neck, trying to calm you. Over and over, from the nape of your neck down along to the every edge of the nightshirt you were wearing. You were trying to push the memories--the hallucinations, it felt like--out of your mind, to try and stop the urges, the destructive need to feel that fire in your veins that dissolved into that hazy, dreamy--

You gasped again. There was that sensation, the tiny sparks traveling along your skin that before now you'd always equated with being touched by 'The Architect'. "I can't, I can't--"

"Shhhh, I'm here," Seth said. HIs fingers kept stroking. The staticky feeling grew. 

You gasped again, your head dropping against his shoulder. You couldn't explain why you were feeling this--each time he touched you, it skimmed along your skin.It distracted you from wanting to shoot up. It replaced it with a different kind of need. The one that came from being touched, being held so intimately. You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, holding on to him for dear life. Anything to keep yourself from running out of the door, trying to find one of your old dealers, pump your arm full of the poison that made all of this go away.

 

"It's OK. I'm right here." 

 

His lips brushed against your ear as you felt the muscles of his arms tense. As if he could hear your thoughts, as if he was holding you in place, as if he had felt an invisible shift, trying to keep you from running. It wasn't the first time he'd done it. It was the first time that you combined the two parts of him, the part who comforted you with the part of him that made your skin crawl in the best way possible. The part that made touch feel good, that made you feel something that wasn't self loathing.

You pressed your lips against his neck and listened to his gasp, to how it made his breath stutter. They tingled from being against his skin. You did it again, needing to be grounded in this world, the real world. His breath stuttered again. You could hear a faint groan from his throat. 

"Please." You didn't know which one of you said it, whether it was 'please don't' or 'please more' but your lips found his and the sensation of sparks along your skin only increased. Each kiss was open-mouthed, wet, sloppy. Desperate. Needy. You threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged. He groaned and pushed you backwards, falling between your opened legs as your back hit the cushions of the sofa. 

Heat. Jolts. Whines of need. Nips. Moans. All of these were the noises between you both as it felt like you were trying to inhabit the other's skin. He overwhelmed you in a way you needed, feeling him struggle both not to grind against you and do just that. You could feel the way he forced his mouth from yours, both of you panting from your overheated kissing. 

"Not like this," he whispered. "Not like this, not here." His declaration didn't stop his lips from dragging along your neck, your shoulder. 

It didn't stop you from digging your nails into his t-shirt covered shoulder. The low growl that left him settled low in your belly and lower than that. It had been so long, since you'd felt anything resembling desire, but you felt it. For him. His beard tickled your skin, his scent filled your nose, you wanted his hands more on your bare skin, now that you knew the tingling shocks were coming from his fingertips. 

What did stop both you was the loud banging on the door.

 

"Rollins! Rollins, open the fuckin' door, we gotta go!"

 

You looked at Seth, eyes wide. You didn't recognize the voice on the other side but it was clear he did. You no longer worried when he made his way to the door, knowing that he was more than capable of protecting you both. 

You didn't recognize the scrawny auburn-haired man in the leather jacket at the door. 

"Ambrose?" was what Seth said, with a poingancy that you didn't miss. 

"No time for reunions, dickhead, let's go." His voice was harsh, an almost stereotypical description of a 'whiskey and smoke' sort of tone. "Between the Family and Bliss, the streets are a goddamned hot mess." He glanced over at you, giving his chin the slightest tick upwards in what you supposed was a greeting. "Hey," he said. "Mite says 'hi'."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had no idea. You examined it as quickly as you could manage, seeing if anything was out of order. It wasn't. You didn't know which deity you needed to thank for that; perhaps all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate you patience. Writing the last few weeks have been difficult with many family visits but I'm hoping to get back on a bi-weekly posting schedule going forward. Thank you again for you continued reading, comments and kudos.

While Seth grilled Ambrose (you supposed he was Mite's Ambrose, she talked about him a bit the last you saw her), you made your way into the room where all your belongings were. You hadn't realized how much you wanted your own things. Now that you had to leave, you at least wanted to be dressed in your own clothing. You dug through the boxes to find jeans, a peach t-shirt, a pair of boots that had seen better days but were more suited for running around in than the thin sneakers you'd been wearing. And even more glorious, _a bra_ , a proper one, YOUR bra. You grabbed your old work out bag, emptying it of the shoes in it and started to fill it with more practical things: another pair of jeans, some t-shirts, a few pairs of underwear and bras. 

Your eyes moved quickly along the stack of clear totes. Now that you weren't sore and aching, it was easier to move, easier to unstack the containers until you reached the second to last one. You thought you saw it there, slightly in disbelief that it was still with all the rest of your belonging. You dug through the rest of the books, pushing the laptop away to pull out the ornate brown journal. 

They had no idea. You examined it as quickly as you could manage, seeing if anything was out of order. It wasn't. You didn't know which deity you needed to thank for that; perhaps all of them. The journal was shoved into the bottom of the bag, and you added the laptop and its power cord as an afterthought. 

"You wanna hurry up in there, dollface?" Ambrose said from the door. His raspy voice surprised you and your hand went to your heart as you stood up. "We ain't got a lot of time."

You nodded, not bothering to place the items that you didn't need back in the tote they came from. You assumed that considering this man's statement when he first arrived, the situation required haste. You drew a hand through your newly shorter hair to needlessly tame it as you made your way out of the room. Seth appeared, dressed in black leather. You recognized the half-mask he held in his right hand. 

"You remember the place?" he asked Ambrose.

"Yeah. I'll get her there. Talk later."

You couldn't help but reach out, grab Seth's leather-clad arm. He looked down at you, the expression on his face softening just a bit. He lifted his hand, let his fingers slip under your chin to tip your head up and your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his lips to yours once.

"Be careful." You both said the words at the same time and you were sure that the half-smile on his face was mirrored on your own. 

"Alla this is really cute and shit, but--"

"Yeah yeah, we gotta go" Seth pulled his mask on over the lower part of his face, and the Architect was in front of you again. "Do what Ambrose says," he said to you in his now modulated voice, but you got the impression it was more for the other man's benefit than your own. You grabbed a black hoodie on the way out of the door, using it more as a disguise than anything. 

It didn't hurt that it all but drowned you in Seth's scent. 

You gripped the strap of your bag tightly as you followed Ambrose. You were silent as the man leading the way picked his way through alleyways and sidestreets. You used the time to try and figure out what was going on in your own mind, rebuild the timeline you had about what had happened.

Seth had seen. He'd been there. He knew you, had known you. And had inadvertently helped to hide the information that everyone was now trying to hunt you down to get. Except that information was so much more than just a second set of financial records. It wasn't even a third set and if any of them had known what she really had---well, Shane had known. 

 

And he was dead.

 

"You don't say a lot," Ambrose noted as he stopped them at the corner of a building. 

"We're trying not to call any more attention to us," you replied. "Since we're in a hurry, figured we don't have time for your standard introductions."

Ambrose gave you a wolfish grin. "I like you," he said as he motioned you forward.

Since you had little sense of time, you had no idea how long it had taken you to get to the abandoned warehouse Ambrose was breaking you both into. At least, the appearance was that he was breaking in. You could tell that the board across the door had been carefully placed and he'd examined it before removing it with a sharp tug. You watched him replace it, taking care to make sure the nails were in the correct holes as he pulled it back in place. You suspected that this building wasn't as abandoned as it appeared to be.

"Still go nothin' to say?" he asked with a harsh whisper.

"Would you actually answer if this was you and Rollins secret superhero clubhouse?" you shot back.

His continued wolf-ish grin was your only answer as he followed what looked to be fresh footprints in the dust and dirt on the concrete. "You see a lot more than you let on, doll," he said. "I guess that's why he's fucking sweet on ya."

Your answer to that was a soft snort.

"Oh you think I didn't notice that boner he was sporting?" he asked. 

"I don't know you well enough to talk about that," you muttered.

If he had a remark to make, he didn't bother, as he leaned down to pull on what became evident was a trap door. You froze. You hadn't been in so much as a basement since...

"Hey. It's ok," Ambrose said. "It ain't like down there."

 _He was in the Underground. He knows._ It didn't stop you from giving him a wary look as you made your way down slowly. "Who's going to cover our tracks?" you asked.

"He'll take care of it," was the answer given. There really wasn't a need to expand on who 'he' was. You carefully made your way down the ladder, Ambrose following you but pausing the close the door behind you. You were surprised to see an electronic keypad embedded in a much more substantial structure than you expected. 

He grinned down at you as he pressed a few buttons, then jumped the rest of the way down. "Told ya," he said. "Ain't like the other place down here."

You were used to dark, dank-smelling tunnels, old sewer lines and abandoned spaces, lit with single bulbs hanging from wires. What was around you was clean, well-lit with blue-white LED lights along the top and bottom of the corridor you were in. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, especially when you reached another door, one that Ambrose placed his hand flat against. There was a slight whirring, then the deep sounds of an unlocking mechanism, not unlike the sound of a bank's vault door on a time-release. 

The room that came into view was a cleaner version of what you'd known in the Underground. Not stinking of urine and feces and mold, but darker. The lighting was warmer, the items in the room more substantial. A desk, several monitors, a police scanner, a small cot dominated one corner of the room. You jumped as you heard an encore of the grinding mechanism of the door. You know the reason for it, but you couldn't stop the feeling of panic.

"Yeah, that's about how I feel about it too," Ambrose said, obviously commenting on the expression on your face. "Dun worry--we ain't staying long."

"It's already too long," you muttered, taking in more of the chamber. It held the feel of somewhere used often, somewhere lived in.

 

A home. 

 

You looked at Ambrose as he made his way over to an old-ish looking easy chair, kicking his battered boots onto the ottoman in front of it. "Go ahead and ask," he said. "I know ya wantin' to."

You didn't, though you did set the bag you carried down and slipped out of the hoodie that was making you too warm. The technology that was in the room was all state-of-the-art and fairly new. The police scanner was indeed that, and you could hear crackling reports of crimes in the city, idle chatter between dispatch and beat cops. 

You looked at the map (how quaint, an old-fashioned fold out map in all this digital technology) and its rounded pushpins. You didn't know what the color coding was. You weren't surprised to see where some of them were clustered around: known hotspots for both the Family and the Acolytes, a perimeter around the area of the soup kitchen. But the places 'uptown', those did surprise you a little. This must be how he kept track of things, what were all those yellow pins in those areas?

The sounds of the door mechanism going made you move quickly, You snatched the bag up, eyes searching for a way out and prepared to run. It was Ambrose who held up his hands:

"No, hold on, hold on. Only people who can get in here can get in here. Only one person can come from that way, we're OK."

But you had only just met this man, so you didn't exactly trust him. For that matter, you didn't entirely trust Seth, even with whatever had passed between you. You needed to be ready for anything that might happen.

What did happen was an enormous, bronze-skinned man coming into the chamber. His long, black hair fell in waves around his shoulders and you could see the intricate design of a tattoo going from wrist to elbow and disappearing under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. 

It took a few moments for you to recognize him as the owner of The Empire, Roman Reigns. You'd seen him at the soup kitchen a few times since you'd been there. Also, you knew from earlier this evening that he was Chris Jericho's boss and apparently, another 'brother' the bartender/hairdresser had admonished Seth to 'hash shit out with'. 

If you needed any more confirmation, the way he greeted Ambrose, with a fist bump and touching foreheads as they embraced might have been the final piece.

"Came soon as I could, Dean," he said, then his eyes fell on you. "That's Rollins' girl, huh?"

You bristled. "I am not 'Rollins' girl'," you said, your fingers moving in air quotes. "Plus, I'm right here. It's offensive to talk about someone when they're standing right in front of you."

At least the taller man had the good sense to act chided. "Sorry about that," he said. "Bad habit. I'm Roman. I run the--"

"I know who you are," you said sharply. "Are there any more 'brothers' that I should know about, or is that it?" you asked Ambrose, not pleased with the smirk on his face. 

"Nah, just the three of us," he asked casually. "Reigns is gonna take you the rest of the way. I gotta make sure nobody picked up the trail. Meet ya at the place?"

His question was directed towards Reigns, who nodded. "Be careful," he said. "Wyatt's out there."

 

You froze. 

 

Ambrose sneered. "Let that fucker come on then," he said. There was a fire and defiance in his voice you were jealous of. 

Reigns chuckled. "Hothead," he said with a fondness. "Come on, babygirl. It'll get a little ugly here on out but nothing near what you're used to." He motioned to the still open door. "Ain't as pretty as the way in. Commandeered some old tunnels the Family forgot about."

You made a face at that. You knew that they really didn't forget about anything. If Reigns saw it, he didn't acknowledge it as you moved into an Underground you were far too familiar with, even if it smelled infinitely better. Your current guide was more talkative than your previous one. It seemed the locale made him more secure, which helped alleviate the waves of memories you wished would got away but wouldn't. "We swept these sections years ago," Reigns was explaining as you walked. "Wyatt cleared out of here, we maintained it--some of us still do."

You could tell. The atmosphere was different. The lighting seemed warmer, the air a more regulated temperature, with less soot and stench. There wasn't a constant dampness or the 'drip, drip, drip' that usually filled the air. "Some of you?" you asked, keeping your voice quiet out of habit. You worried about being heard. It was instinct for you.

"You're not the only one who's gotten away from the Underground," he said. "And there's plenty who help from the inside."

It was almost movie level cliche for you to catch a whiff of sulfur in the air. Your head spun because when you were in the Underground, even 'forgotten' section of it, and you smelt rotten eggs and ash, you kept your head on a swivel. 

"Ain't seen much a ya 'round these parts in 'alf a minnit, Reings."

You yelped as a distinctly accented voice addressed Reigns. You knew that voice. It sounded a little more--human--that what you were used to, but you knew it all the same. 

"Had business that needed taking care of," Reigns said. You made sure you stayed firmly behind your guide, doing your best to stay unseen even though you knew it wasn't really possible. Nothing missed _that one's_ eye, nothing was truly out of _his_ sight. "Apparently we're getting the band back together."

"Hullo, little bird," the other man said. "Ain't gonna hurt ya. Didn't take the time of making sure ya got out to cause ya any harm."

You were sure it was comical, the way your head popped out from behind Reigns to regard The Demon King, Finn Bálor. He looked remarkably--normal. A tall, sinewy young man with a broad grin and a neatly trimmed goatee, dressed in black...but you saw the eyes that you knew that the foggy mists of the drugs you took could never banish. You could still see the maw of white teeth and the long, snake-like tongue you'd witnessed at the side of Bray Wyatt, fighting all and sundry for 'entertainment' and worse, punishment. 

You did what you had to in the Underground to survive. 

"I'm nae gonna hurt you, little bird, c'mon out here." Bálor motioned at you with his hand. 

You couldn't seem to stop your feet from moving at first, until you grabbed Reigns' left arm and shook your head. You couldn't bring yourself to speak but you weren't getting any closer to him than you had to. You didn't like the chuckle that came from him. 

"Always was a distrustful little thing," he said to Reigns. "Why she stayed alive as long as she did. The way's clear, if ya hurry. Bliss and her pack is runnin' wild beyond belief. Reckon I oughta go put the fear of somethin' inna dem lasses." His grin was wolfish and horrifyingly familiar. 

"Don't kill them." You didn't recognize the squeaky thing that was masquerading as your own voice. 

Bálor laughed, a surprisingly bright and sunny sound, knowing what you did of the--creature. "Dun worry none, little bird," he said. "I'll take the price of tha pretty new haircut outta Bliss' hide for ya. Leave some scraps for ya to get yours on, yeah?" You watched his gaze shift from you to Reigns. "O'Shaunessy ain't none too pleased," he said. "Ya best not have gotten his boy toy all mussed up."

Reigns chuckled low. "Yeah yeah, I'll handle him in a minute. Keep an eye out for you know who. He in a mood. Come on, babygirl. Let's get goin' while it's good. See ya, Finn."

"M'name's not babygirl," you muttered sourly as you followed Reigns. "Or 'little bird' either," you added as a parting shot to Bálor, the only one you could manage. You deliberately refused to look at the other man as you walked past him, but you could feel his eyes on you as you and Reigns moved down the tunnel you were in. 

"He's not so bad, once you get to know him," Reigns offered after a long stretch of silence.

You full on snorted, but that was the only comment on the issue you planned on making. You knew what you knew. There wasn't much that was going to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about The Demon King. Even if it turned out he had a hand in getting you away from Wyatt.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cameos. More snark. Same ol' Seth.
> 
> EDIT: Apologizes for c/p gone wild. It should be better now.

Your ribs were sore. Between Mite (you knew their other name but Mite was just so fitting you stuck with it), Bayley and Heath, you were sure something had to be broken. But for the first time you didn't begrudge any of them the contact. You'd been worried sick about Heath and Bayley. You hated seeing the black eye and the bruises on the lanky redhead and you didn't know the kind of pain seeing Bayley's neck bandaged up caused actually existed. They were...your friends. Your friends who had suffered. Because of you. You and the brown book in the bag slung over your shoulder. 

You hated how your friends were hurt because of you. 

Mick was--Mick. He gave you a gap-toothed grin, tousled your short hair. "Good to see you OK," he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

It has been so long. That was the refrain for the evening in your head. So long since you felt, so long since you wanted to feel, so long since you felt--cared for.

 

You wrapped your arms around Mick and cried. 

 

You felt the gentle pats on your shoulder. You could hear Bayley whispering that it was going to be OK, Heath telling you 'Don' cry, Miss Jo, we a'right, ain't nothin' so bad a little time won't heal up."

This little ragatag group was all the family you had now, that was here. You didn't want them to suffer anymore because of you. You let Bayley rock you in her arms. You let Heath lead you to the rickety picnic table, let Mite push a piece of freshly baked bread in your hands to nibble on. You were so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. You wanted to sleep. For the first time in a long time, all you wanted to do was sink into a bed and sleep.

The door of the cellar you were in opened. You recognized William Regal, the owner of Royal Arrangements Florist. He nodded towards Mick and Reigns, then gave you a smile. "Well, here's the young lady we've all be so worried about," he said grandly and you wanted to sink down into the ground. 

"C'mon now, go easy on the poor gal, Regal," you heard O'Shaunessy said. 

It was then you noticed exactly who all were assembled in the room. Mick. Regal. Reigns. O'Shaunessy and hovering next to him, Ambrose. One of the officers who frequently stopped by the soup kitchen--Breeze. A taller man who hovered as close to Reigns as Ambrose did to O'Shaunessy. 

You screeched as the smell of sulfur hit your nose and you had no shame burrowing right into Heath's side as Bálor appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Oh fuck you RIGHT OFF," you said sourly at his chuckle. You hoped the look you gave him was murderous enough. It had to have been for him to be pulling his hand away from what you were sure was a hair tousle. MICK had earned that right, not him. 

"Rollins is on the way," he said. "Had to help him out of a jam. Don' worry, little bird, he's all in one--"

"If you call me that _one more time_ , I swear to God I don't know how, but I'll find a way to kill you," you said in a cold tone that you hoped brooked no argument. "I will take it out on you for every fucking goddamned thing I lived through in that--in that---" You could feel your fingers curling into claws, the way they had when you had seen McMahon the Elder down in front of Wyatt's 'throne'. "I will tear your fucking eyes out and feed them to you I swear to--"

"Jo. It's OK."

This voice also brought you up short. You all but flung yourself into Seth's arms, sobbing in a different way than with Mick. Panicked and afraid, he was the only person who could ground you, bring your mind back from the hellscape that Bálor's presence bathed you in. You felt his gloved hand on your neck, his thumb stroking your bare skin. You could feel his heart beating against your ear, you were enveloped in his scent. It brought you back.

"Ain't no hard feelin's litt--." You didn't turn to regard the Demon. "It's just how I saw ya down there. All caged up, looking ta get free one way or another. Didn't belong down there. I know ya got claws. Old Man Vinny still got scars on his face from dem."

"Good." You knew the word was mumbled against the thick leather jacket Rollins was wearing. You didn't care. 

"Now that we're all here," Reigns said, his voice hinting that he'd like to get the proceedings going. 

"All I wanna know is why 'Taker and Wyatt are violating all the neutral zones?" O'Shaunessy growled. "Ain't nae reason for them ta, 'tis bad enough I have to deal with those creepy sheep-masked arses and the Acolytes runnin' through me alley, but now these Bliss gals? Fuck that noise. YOU tol' me these were put in place ages ago!"

The 'YOU' had been directed somewhere, it was clear. You finally managed to lift your head up off Seth's chest to see what was happening. You saw Mr. Regal lifting his chin a little. "It's not my fault that it seems that the Deadman and Mt Wyatt seem to be in breach of the years long contract...unless they're being swayed by the lovely ladies of the Bliss Squad and their unique brand of disregard of the tenants of the--"

"Who's paying them?" you blurted out. 

All eyes turned towards you. 

"Oh stop being naive," you said. Seth's presence against you steadied you enough to be able to speak out. "Everyone knows that--" You never willingly said the man's name. It always caused a stab of real pain to even think it. "--McMahon. He funds 'Taker and the Acolytes. He also slips Wyatt money on the side. So does Helmsley. So does every major corporation in this stinking city"

You felt Seth stiffen. _He didn't know that._

"Limited chaos on the streets benefits all of them, benefits the products they sell for escapism, benefits the kickbacks they get from brothels and drug dealers," you continued. "Limited chaos, yes. Out and out war? No, that's not good for anyone's 'business'. So who's funding Bliss and her squad? What did they promise her, where does she get the money for her sparkly hotpants and the rest of their gear?" You shook your head. "That's not just petty larceny, a jewelry store here, a bank there. You find the money, you trace it back." Honestly, it was basic accounting 101. It really wasn't all that difficult. 

"The last person who tried that is sitting at the bottom of the harbor," Ambrose replied.

It took everything you had not to scream at him, but before you did both Seth and Bálor let out angry 'HEY's at him. 

"Tha's pretty low, even for YOU, Lunatic."  
"Watch your fucking mouth, Ambrose."

You ignored Bálor's tight grin. You could see Seth's fist start to form, the soft glow begin to pick up between his fingers. "That's enough," you said. "Seth, I said ENOUGH." You laid your hand on his chest. You were hoping that the one small gesture could stop a fistfight from starting. "And actually Ambrose, no. The last person to try that _isn't_ sitting at the bottom of the harbor." 

It was Mick who spoke up next. "Jo, I know you're smarter than you let on," he started. "You have to know something about--"

"Actually, who the hell IS this chick anyway?" It was the taller man with Reigns who spoke up. "And why the hell are we even bothering with all this bullshit--naw Roman, don't hush me up, I'm not here to waste time with whoever's little piece on the side..."

Before anyone could say anything, either Heath or Seth or even Reigns, Bálor was across the room, his hand around the other man's throat. "Fair warnin' Corbin," and it certainly was not the more human voice Bálor had been putting on. "Disrespect the lady a'gin and we'll be havin' words. Ya know I dun make idle threats."

Well. That was certainly not the reaction you were expecting. It was irritating. It--reminded you that Mick was right. 

"OK, can we please stop all the dick measuring contest bullshit right now?" you said, with a snap to your voice that you hadn't felt like using in a very long time. "Bálor, put him down, stop acting like you're my demon knight in sooty armor." You rubbed the bridge of your nose, trying to collect your thoughts and quell the itching under your skin. One count in, two counts out, two counts in, three counts out, just the way Bayley had taught you. 

"I used to do the books for McMahon International," you said. "That wasn't my job when I started but--"

"All this over a stinking accountant?" The scorn in Corbin's voice was pablable.

"All this," Officer Breeze said quietly, "over Shane McMahon's assistant. And partner. Personal partner."

The room stilled. 

"You were under investigation," Breeze continued. "Not from the police. Not for lack of trying. But on a few fronts. People digging up information about you, your family, your background." Breeze shot a look at Seth. "You're not going to like hearing some of this, Rollins."

"I don't care," he said stiffly.

Well, that was going to change. 

"You said that--Stephanie--she wanted you to try and stop him. Her--father."

Reigns was the one who sounded bitter. "Yeah. Rollins neglected to tell us that when he had us all barreling in like gangbusters," he said. "Walked right into the Acolytes AND the Family. Sheepheads snatched Dean up, had him halfway to the Underground before I could blink." He signed as he put his arm around Corbin's shoulders. "I didn't see what happened, just heard the splash and the screaming. Would have chased after--anyone--really--but got sliced by an Acolyte. Rollins was the last one standing, blasting everyone in sight."

"Yeah, but just long enough to go running home to Mommy and Daddy," Ambrose snarled. "Ain't that right 'brother'?"

"HEY!" You could hear both anger and hurt in Seth's voice. "What, you think I wanted to leave you down there!?"

"Sure didn't make no great big effort to dig me out of--"

"It is NOT what you think it is, Ambrose--"

"Oh no, you were all about dollface over there, pining away like a lovesick teenager--"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Dean--"

"What? You think nobody knew? NOBODY knew that the only reason you wanted to do this, risked us, risked alla us was because you wanted to get your dick wet in--"

 

"THAT'S ENOUGH."

 

You'd forgotten that you could yell that loud.

 

"You want to know what all this is about?" you asked. You went over and grabbed your bag. You pulled out the journal you'd carried through the streets. You carefully tugged on what looked like a random stray string in the binding. It loosened it just enough for you to be able to dig out a thumb drive. Your eyes searched the room for a place to plug in the ancient laptop you'd dragged with you.

No plug.

Of course.

But you held the drive up anyway. "Shane wanted to take his father down by finding a second set of books," you explained. "A set of books I was hired to doctor, to hide money Papa McMahon had been skimming from government contracts, from misfiling returns. But...we found something else. Something much more valuable. That's what he wants. It's why he killed his son. He thought that Shane was the one who had the keys." 

"I don't get it." Corbin said. 

"I do." Seth said. "You don't just have a second set of books. You know where the rabbit holes are. _All_ of them."

"Huh?"

"Where you think that kind of money goes?" Reigns said in his low voice. "You can't keep that kind of cash in on-shore banks, no matter how many of them you buy off. The feds will get involved."

"You've found more than that though, haven't you?" Regal asked. "More than just offshore accounts."

You nodded. You weren't going to say it, not in front of these people you barely knew. "Follow the money. Find out who's funding Bliss. You'll find out who's trying to start a war." You carefully put the thumb drive away. You knew it wasn't going to stay there for long. You'd shown your hand but it was a necessary risk. Whoever was behind this, they weren't going to stop until they had you. And you were just about out of patience being a victim. You needed to take back your onus in this. Yes, Shane had convinced you to step on the path. It has just been about money and power. But now...it was different. It was personal. 

Balor said that Vince McMahon bore your scars on his face still.

His face wasn't the only place you planned on leaving your mark.

 

While everyone discussed what you'd exposed, Mite came over, motioned you to a quiet corner of the room. You followed. You needed to get away, to have a bit of stillness and they were always good for that. 

"Why is the Demon King all about you?" they asked in that still voice.

"I don't know," you replied. "I don't like it."

"Dean is going to hit Rollins, you know."

You chuckled. "I sure hope so," you said. "They both need to beat the hell out of each other for a while."

Mite gave you a dirty look. 

You raised your hands up. "I'm just saying. They're not exactly the 'let's talk our feelings of abandonment and guilt out over tea and crumpets' sort. What, you worried Ambrose will get the worst of it?"

You grinned at the filthy look of scorn shot your way. 

 

"Why is he even here?" 

It was another lull in the ongoing history lesson-slash-planning session. Much against Seth's wishes, you insisted on going back to the soup kitchen with Mick, Bayley and Heath. You were in danger either way, you would be better off in an environment you knew. Doing something. Not tempted to go out and score because your mind wouldn't be idle. There was cleaning up to do. Mick's office was wrecked. The whole place was wrecked.

Seth protested. You knew he would. While others were talking, you argued about it. Well, he yelled, you stood there, knowing your face was stony and blank, like it was when you listened to Shane do the same damned thing about something you'd made your mind up about eons ago. 

But it didn't answer your question: "Why is he even here?" You jerked your head towards Bálor. It didn't make sense. You remembered enough to know that the Bálor that you'd witnessed in the Underground wasn't as magnanimous as he appeared here. You could tell every time his eyes were on you, even if you weren't looking. You could swear that you could feel the tendrils of his conscious licking at the edges of your own. It was unnerving. You didn't like it. It made you itch worse than normal and that wasn't helping the urge to want to score.

"Hey...stay with me." you felt the hand on your elbow. You felt the static electricity, the metallic taste on your tongue. 

"Sorry," you said.

"You should come back. With me."

He really knew how to fit entire _worlds_ into a single pause. "We've had this discussion for ten minutes, Seth, I'm not having it again," you said. "I'm going back home."

It was your turn to pause. _Home_. The big, brick building. The faded wood floors and cracked linoleum tiles. The temperamental boiler that only seemed to work when Mick kicked it a few dozen times. Your little room with the tiny window you couldn't see out of and even when it was warm held a chill. 

_Home_.

Apparently, the word resonated with him as well. You saw his shoulders slump a little bit. "Don't get mad at me for spending even more time there then," he said, managing to look both sheepish and annoyed at the same time. 

"Good. You still need to finish painting," you said. 

Seth scoffed. "That wall's probably gone!" he complained.

You shrugged. "Well we'll just have to rebuild it. Then you can paint it. Properly." You gently moved your elbow out of his hand. "And for the record, skinny jeans and snapbacks are not acceptable painting gear."

It was his turn to scoff. "Maybe," he replied. "But admit it...those jeans make my ass look fantastic."

The return of snarky Seth was both welcome and infuriating. "You really are a pain," you said as you made your way over to Mick, Heath and Bayley.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always expect the unexpected in Suplex City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience in staying with this. Time is always at a premium and I've been taking my time to try and craft something that is --well, good. It's slow going but I think the end is somewhat near.

Life in Suplex City moved in waves. Nothing was ever really 'steady'. The highs were, relatively speaking, more like low speed bumps. The lows were almost bottomless, like the numerous potholes along the stretch of road you and Bayley were currently traveling along. 

Summer had come to The City That Showed No Mercy and in typical fashion, it was as hot and humid as the winters were frigid and brutal. Only about three months since the Bliss Squad's attack and the soup kitchen--the community center--was almost back to what passed for normal. Most of the work that needed to be done was cosmetic; for the heavier build-out, you used some of the substantial funds in the bank to hire a reputable contractor, highly recommended by Mr. Regal. 

It hadn't taken long for the regulars to return. The place was an important resource to those who lived in the area. With school out, it was the sole source of lunch for many of the children who depended on free school meals. The air conditioning unit might have seen better days but it worked enough to take the worst of the humidity from the air. Fans took care of the rest. 

You noticed the newer faces who came by. Reigns was a more frequent visitor, usually with Corbin unhappily tagging behind, coming in to talk to Mick and not-so-subtly checking around the outside of the building. Ambrose, O'Shaunessy and Mite would all come with a nightly pot of soup d'jour for the late nighters who stumbled up the back stairs.

Your blood still ran cold when Bálor would come by for whatever reason he decided. You made sure to deliberately make yourself scarce when he did. You didn't trust him. You didn't like his interest in you. You didn't buy it. He represented a part of your life you wanted to banish from your mind and he might look nice and normal, you knew what was simmering just under his pale facade.

 

And then there was Seth. 

 

It was different between you. There was no way it couldn't be. You both behaved as if nothing was different but it was impossible to, if you were honest. Funny enough, you weren't very honest to yourself, even if you were to him. You went back to your weekly routine of sitting in Mick's office, going over the projects that needed doing. He'd show up in battered jeans, t-shirt and snapback hat to paint or repair whatever he could manage. 

But he'd also show up late at night, sometimes still dressed in his 'work' clothes. You were a light sleeper. The sound of his heavy boots dropping on the floor as he took them off always woke you. He would slide into bed, curling around you. Most times, you didn't speak to each other. You'd wake up inevitably having used his bicep as your pillow and feel his slow, even breaths leaving his parted lips against your scalp. 

 

Or to his morning wood poking into your back. Not that it was unpleasant. Hardly. Which caused its own set of emotional conflicts for you. 

 

Your thumb drive found a new hiding place every day. Every night, it was under your pillow with your hand on top of it. It certainly wasn't the only copy that existed. No, you'd made several of them. Some were dummies, with missing information. There were only three that had it all.

The one now in Mick's safe.

The one you'd given Seth for safe keeping. You hoped he understood the level of trust you were placing in him by that one act. 

The third one never had a set place. 

 

You had hoped that things would settle. There were less reports of Acolytes or Family wandering through the neighborhood for no good reason. Bliss and her crew hadn't been seen anywhere nearby of late. Maybe it was all forgotten. That was your hope as you were finishing up your organizing for Mick's office for the day. Usually you'd be joined by Seth, but he'd told you that morning he had 'corporate bullshit' that needed attending to that day. "Orders from the boss," was his explanation. You didn't think he looked particularly happy about it. 

You were in the corner of the main room, helping one of the regulars fill out a re-certification form when the creaking that always announced the front doors being opened filled the room. You looked over your shoulder to see who had entered and you couldn't breathe. 

You recognized Seth in all of his 'corporate' glory: black suit, black shirt, black tie, hair scraped back in a low bun, beard neatly trimmed. Any other time you might admit that he was more than a little bit handsome. As in 'smoking hot' handsome. Even with the frown that marred his face. 

It was the man next to him that caused your reaction. His hulking form seemed to take over the entire room. Even the suit that you knew what impeccably tailored to fit his massive frame was far too small for him. 

Hunter Hearst Helmsley. A self-proclaimed scion of the publishing family (you'd found out ages ago that was a big fat lie). President of Helmsley International, another multinational conglomerate (like McMahon) that focused on real estate. Owned much of the undeveloped land on the outskirts of the city, along with large swaths of the depressed warehouse district and the slowly recovering entertainment one. 

 

He was also Shane's brother-in-law.

 

"Amazing the work you've done here, son," he was saying very loudly. You presumed it was to Seth. "Good to see you taking some initiative, even if on lost causes."

"What was that about a lost cause?" Thank God for Mick, who heard more than he ever let on. "Hunter! It's good to see you! Seth, it's weird to see you in a suit."

You turned your attention away from the conversation to finish up what you were doing. You wanted to get away. You couldn't take the risk of Helmsley recognizing you. You were much skinnier, not nearly as well dressed as you once were and your bangs were long enough to cover the left side of your face now. But you made yourself as small as possible, to hide. You still managed to hear a quiet 'hey' in your direction. 

Seth had his back to you. As a matter of fact, his body was blocking the small space that you could use to duck into the corridor without being seen. You were grateful for the cover and you used it. You heard Helmsley comment to Mick, asking "So when are you going to introduce me to the genius who turned this around?" You couldn't hear the answer as you were already secured in Mick's office, locking the door behind you. You hoped that he and Seth were convincing Helmsley that it was all them, you were just a worker bee, doing busy work given to you. That was Seth's purpose, after all. He'd been sent down here to 'make this place work'. 

There were two doors in Mick's office. On led to the main corridor, the other led into the large kitchen. You made your way out of that door, hoping that Helmsley, who might bull his way into the office wouldn't deign to be seen in a lowly commissary-style kitchen. 

"Jo." The voice was hushed but urgent. 

You didn't answer. 

"Jo. C'mon, don't hide from me." You could hear the clicking of heels against the old linoleum that had seen far better days. You heard them stop behind you. You felt hands rest on your waist. "Mick's keeping him busy. Feeding him some line of bullshit, I dunno. Babe...talk to me."

You shook your head, even as you felt him get closer. Even when you felt his chest pressed against your back, his head resting against yours, side by side. It hurt that he called you 'babe'. It hurt that you liked it. Everything just--

"...hurts. It hurts."

He didn't say anything at first. He pulled you closer. You were touching from ankle to cheek. You could feel his warmth setting through you. Just like it did late at night, when you both lay in your small bed in silence. 

"I know."

You closed your eyes tight, trying to force the tears you felt welling up back. You felt his lips on the back of your neck. "I don't want him to see me," you said. You rested your hands against his. "It won't be good."

"You won't have to." You closed your eyes at the feel of his whiskers against your cheek. You should be feeling ashamed at the wave of warmth that went through you from it. From that, from the smell of his cologne, from his lips on your skin. "I've got--"

Loud voices from Mick's office broke the spell. Maybe not the spell, but definitely the contact. Even that was slow. You could sense the reluctance in the movements as he peeled himself away from you. Fingers dragged along your hip as he stepped back. He made it clear that where he was, it was where at that moment, he wanted to be. 

You heard a deep voice that wasn't Mick call out for him. He sighed, his head dropping down; you could feel his forehead on your shoulder. "I'll see you tonight," he said, the fact that he wasn't pleased to be following the voice calling for him evident. 

"Hey." You grabbed his wrist before he turned away. You smiled a bit as he turned towards you. "You look nice," you said, knowing that for as long as you'd known him, you'd never once commented on his appearance. You rubbed your thumb along his inner wrist, just a single swipe. You were pleased to see his smile grow more genuine. He didn't say anything. He simply pulled your hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it before heading toward Mick's office. 

It gave you the time to make your way to your room. You were tired. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for you to take a nap mid-day. All the emotions were trying to deal with. It took its toll. The daily struggle of fighting the desire to lose yourself, they took their toll, too. Heath or Bayley would wake you in time for dinner, to make sure you actually ate, not just lose yourself in your thoughts and push the food around on your plate or in your bowl. 

You curled up in a sheet, your head resting on the plaid fleece blanket that Mick had given you the cold night you'd first arrived. You'd just take a little nap, then manage to get through the rest of your day and evening. 

 

When your eyes opened, you knew you were not where you were supposed to be. 

It looked too much like the dingy tunnels of the Underground, with the too-yellow lighting making it difficult to focus at first. The smell wasn't as musty and dank as you remembered, and it was far too warm--probably like the abandoned area near Seth's compound, except whoever did this was clearly concerned with creature comforts, like heat.

You didn't have any creature comforts. You were tied up, your arms stretched out on either side. You shoulders were sore. Your head felt fuzzy, as did your mouth. You doubted that if you asked whoever was behind this for a glass of water, you'd get it. 

"Well, well, _well_."

 

You knew that voice. You weren't happy about it.

 

You only lifted your eyes. The tips of her ponytail were bright neon green this time. You assumed the figure next to her was Jax, but you weren't bothering to look up and over. You rolled your neck to work a crick out of it. You got a slap for your trouble.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, bitch!"

You did as you were told. More of the room came into view. Over in one corner were a snickering Fox and Natalya. Asuka looked at immutable as usual with that half-smile on her face. The only one with a look on their face that was different was Jax's She looked--perturbed. Unsettled. You caught her gaze with yours. You said nothing about it, but you could see a level of--sympathy?

It confused you. But her 'boss' was speaking again in her whining voice. "What on earth to do with you? I mean, it's not like you have anything I--oh that's right. YOU DO." She pushed her face directly in yours. "I don't care who's fucktoy you are, you're going to give me what I want. You're going to do what I want, tell me what I want, and you're gonna do it because I can give you what YOU want."

You snorted. "You have exactly zero things I want, Bliss." Your shoulders hurt but you kept your eyes on the unpredictable blonde. You didn't expect her to laugh. If it was meant to worry you, it worked.

"Oh but I do," she drawled. She took a few steps, then came back quickly to slap you again, so hard it felt like your teeth were rattled loose. 

"Enough." This voice was new, but not really. You were sure it was a pain induced hallucination. Or a withdrawal related one. It wouldn't be the first time. You woke up in the middle of the night, swearing that he was in the room with you. "I didn't hire you to beat her, I hired you to get the information."

"But she's just so slappable," Bliss whined, taking a step back. 

You wished you were in a position to throw a kick at the irritating blonde. After a moment, it didn't matter. 

The next face that came into view made you want a dozen needles in your arm, all at the same time. The hair was more silver, there were a wrinkle or three more than you'd remembered. But there was no mistaking that face, that voice, those eyes.

 

"S-Shane?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things in this world one shouldn't see. Your dead lover was definitely at the top of that list.

You were rubbing at your wrist to get the feeling back in it. You still weren't fully convinced you weren't hallucinating in seeing the man sitting next to you, his hand on your shoulder. There were too many questions and the sour look you were getting from Bliss on the attention you were receiving didn't make this any kind of fairy-tale ending. "I thought you were---you were--" 

Even right in front of him, you couldn't say the words. 

"I thought I was," he said, taking your hand in his. "I don't remember how I got loose. Maybe the old bastard didn't--" He stopped speaking. You cringed. His thumb had been stroking your arm. You didn't need to look down to see where it was. What he was touching. You looked away as he pulled you sleeve up. "What the hell is all this?" he asked. "Who did this to you? WHO?"

You still couldn't look at him. "The first time? I don't know. Every time after that? ...I did." You avoided his gaze as you took your arm out of his hand, pulled your sleeve down protectively, so that he couldn't see. So that you wouldn't start tearing the skin off your arm. You rubbed your wrist with your palm, feeling the itching build up. "I needed to forget. What I saw. What I saw them do to YOU." 

You finally managed to look at him. Wince at the look of disgust in his eyes. "What they made me watch at Miss Lillian's. In the Underground. I. Watched. You. DIE....or so I thought." You were already ashamed of what you'd done to yourself. You didn't need him to pile onto it. 

"Hey..JoJo, hey." You felt him put a finger on your chin,turn your head so you could look at him. "It's a lot to take in. I know. I--I should have gotten here sooner. I'm sorry."

It felt sincere. It felt real. HE felt real, sturdy and solid and not at all like the ghosts that had haunted you as you felt him wrap his arms around you, hold you close. But Bliss' eyes cutting through you with hatred and something else you couldn't define--that gave you pause. 

"I need to go back," you said. "How did you even get me out, I was asleep..."

"Shhhh, don't worry about any of that now," Shane said. "You don't need to worry about that place ever again."

You'd developed a healthy dose of skepticism from the time you'd spent with both the Acolytes and the Family. Things that were too good to be true usually were. There was always a hook, an angle, some kind of twist that always had you looking over your shoulder. _Trust nothing and no-one, not even what you see with your own eyes,_ Mae had told you more than once. _Those devils, they know how to make things look pretty, right until you take a bite and it turns to poison in your mouth._

You hadn't listened then, only nodded and smiled to humor the old woman you were fond of. If you had, you might not have ended up a street junkie, even now fighting the urge to shoot up while in the arms of your lover returned from the dead. 

So you took a chance. "Why? Are you going to build me that little house and fill the garden with hollyhocks and hydrangeas to hide me away in?" you asked. It was such a touch stone at the end, him teasing you about the names of the flowers you so loved. 

"And all lilies and daisies and forsythias you can dream of," he mumbled. 

 

You stiffened.

 

Because those weren't the names he ever said. Ever. Not once. 

 

"What about my marshmallows and foxwoods and tickweed?" you asked in a tone of voice that made it seem that you were being lulled into the image. But your eyes weren't closed. They were right on Bliss. On the way she smirked at the questions you asked. The look of disgusting glee on her face. As if she was waiting for something.

"Did you forget all the names you used to call them, Shane?" you continued as you pulled away. "The hyenas and the pollyhocks and the armadillos? Did you forget all of those?"

There was both confusion and consternation on the face of the person in front of you. "...I don't know what you--"

"I know you don't. Just like I know you're not really Shane." You looked over his shoulder to Bliss. "What did you do to me?" you demanded. "What did you give me, what did you DO!?"

"I'm tired of all this bullshit," Bliss said with a sigh. You could see the needle in her hand, you could almost smell the acrid, sticky-sweetness of the liquid in it. "No-one's going to care if they find another junkie dead on the street."

You scrabbled backwards, even as Bliss ordered Jax and Fox to grab you. You could hear yourself pleading for her not to do it. You didn't care how it made you look, you'd do anything. "FINE! It's in my pocket! The drive! Take it, take it, please don't, please don't put that in my arm, please don't please don't please don't--"

"It's about time." You didn't know what kind of makeup or sorcery they were using to make the figure with Shane's appearance look that way, but you just wanted it all to stop. 

"Fox?" Bliss motioned to the woman on your left. She still kept a firm grip on you with one hand while the other when pushing into your front pocket. You could feel scrabbling fingers through the thin cotton, then they closed around the small object at the bottom---not without a bit of gratuitous groping. 

"Got it boss!" she cried out. She whispered lewdly in your ear, "I should ask if we can have some fun later."

You shuddered. "Go to hell," you said. "You can all GO TO HELL."

Bliss' eyes narrowed. "You know what, I'm tired of this bitch." She moved forward, the syringe in her hand held up and her thumb on the stopper. 

"Bálor!"

You didn't have time to be surprised at Jax's exclamation, or at her movement to protect you. You were watching the needle move towards your arm one second, the next you were surrounded by smoke and cold. The hand gripping your arm didn't belong to the women who had been holding you. It was black and red, containing the only heat in the area. 

" _Shhh, anois éan beag. Ní dhéanfaidh aon eagla ort. Tá mé agat._ "

You supposed from anyone else, the words you couldn't make heads nor tails of being spoken might be considered musical. From the mouth of the Demon Bálor, they sounded ominous. You were too cold to speak. Every time you opened your mouth, your teeth chattered. 

_Tar. Tá Rollins ag fanacht. Tá sé beagán buartha._ Bálor started moving, but you couldn't make your own feet follow. You felt frozen in place. You WERE frozen in place, too cold to take a step. The Demon tilted its head, then you could see understanding hit. 

_Ó. Tá tú fuar. Mo leithscéalta, beagán._ It made a motion with a hand, and you gasped as it felt like you'd been dunked in a hot bath. 

"JESUS," you gasped, finally able to speak. You looked at your hand; steam was rising off your skin, but you weren't sweating. 

"He don't much like it down 'ere," The Demon said in that double voice that always chilled you. It chuckled at your look of shock. "The magic. You understand me now, yeah?" The long tendrils of its--you supposed it was a headdress--swayed from side to side as you finally managed to walk. 

"Where am--"

"Answers ye don't need," the creature cut you off. "Finn would be well and cross. He's sweet on you, y'know."

"Are you?"

The Demon laughed. It didn't answer as you were led through--you moved to turn your head, try and get your bearings.

"Don't. Look. Humans aren't meant to see m'realm."

"And you brought me here why then?" you asked. 

The Demon laughed. "You wouldn't like the alternative." 

The grey fog that swirled around you both felt alive somehow, solid and ethereal at the same time. You could feel cold sweep along your cheek, through your hair even as the warmth you were gifted was enough to keep you moving. You were torn between trying to find out more information from The Demon and trying not to look to either side of you. It was why you blinked so suddenly when you moved from grey and misty to the warm amber light of the room you'd been in a few weeks before. You blinked a few times trying to clear you vision and see exactly where you'd been brought to. 

The three men in the room were startled to say the least. "Bálor, the actual fuck?" you heard a familiar voice say. "What have I told you about--"

You were pushed forward. "Nae time to talk fellas," you heard in the 'normal' tone of Finn. "Gotta get back see if there's anything I kin do fer Jax."

"Jax?" It took another moment for you to realize it was Reigns voice. 

"I ain't the only mole in low places," Bálor said. 

You didn't have a chance to ask about anything either of them was saying, because you felt yourself being crushed in a tight embrace. Cinnamon, leather, musk overtook your smell. You could feel a gloved hand on the back of your neck. You could hear muffled words as you struggled to get an actual breath, pulling your head back. You didn't expect to see the relief and even fear in the intensely dark eyes gazing down at you.

"WHY do you always have to scare the fucking shit out of me?" Seth said, before crashing his mouth on yours. 

 

Bálor had taken Reigns and Ambrose through a glowing disc, you supposed to where you'd been held and where Jax still was. You hoped they would be able to do something for her. You hoped that needle intended for you hadn't ended up in _her_ arm. "Do everything I would," Ambrose said with a wink as he followed Bálor. You made sure to flip him off, ignoring his chuckles as he disappeared.

Seth was in his 'Architect' uniform, minus his half mask. He had your hand in his and you could feel the tingles traveling along your skin. "Never tried this before," he mumbled as the pale green energy moved along the bruises on your wrist. "I mean, it fixs me, it should fix this, right?"

You were shaking your head, not able to handle being touched and desperately trying to ignore what the sensations were doing to you. "You don't have to do this," you said, pulling your hand away. You needed space, you needed to clear your head.

"I want to--"

You shook his hand off your shoulder, even as you rubbed the wrist he'd been using his power on. "Don't TOUCH me right now!" you said, your voice harsh. "I can't--he was there--except it wasn't him, it wasn't HIM, I know it wasn't him, I can't, please don't--" You were gasping between words. You could feel the panic washing in. You were digging your nails into your skin, trying to banish the itching, trying to get the image of Shane out of your head, wondering if you were still under the influence of whatever Bliss had done to you to make you see him. It smelled like him, it sounded like him, but it wasn't it wasn't--

 

"Come on, babe, breathe with me. Come on, slow and steady...in for four, out for five."

 

It took a few tries for you to follow the pattern. You tried to pull away, but Seth's hands gripped your shoulders firmly. He rested your back against his chest, breathing the way he wanted you to copy. You were gasping less now, even as you kept trying to pull his fingers off your shoulders.

"Nope, you're not gonna claw your skin off in front of me," he said. "Talk to me, tell me what happened, who was there. Slowly, breathe in, let it go. Tell me."

"Shane." You could barely hear yourself speak. "Shane. He was--but it wasn't him. It couldn't be. He's dead." You started panicking again. "The drive. Seth they took the DRIVE, Bliss was going to shoot me with smack and I gave it to her she has everything EVERYTHING--"

"No she doesn't. I picked it out of your pocket in the kitchen."

You stopped breathing. 

"Nah nah nah, come on, breathe with me. In--out--that's a good girl, stay with me, babe." 

You sank against him, trying and failing to hold back the tears. "I hate this. I hate all of this. I hate it." You felt yourself being turned around. You looked up into Seth's dark eyes. You saw him raise his hand, his thumb brush against your cheek.

"C'mere." He lead you over to the small cot that was on the far side of the room. He sat you down, took your hand in his again, touching his fingertips along the bruises on your wrist. "Whoever plugs the drive you had in your pocket in, they're going to destroy their own computer system and any other one it's attached to," he said. "I knew you had it but--you worked too hard to keep it safe. And I had a bad feeling."

You closed your eyes. You wanted to be angry but all you could feel was a muted sense of relief. A relief that was replaced with a slight squirming. "Please stop," you asked quietly, even as you could feel the pain subside in your wrists. You didn't want to feel like this, not after... "Seth...."

"No, I don't want you to think about what you saw," he said, even as he placed your now healed hand in your lap and picked up the other one. "I want you to stay with me--"

"Easy for you to--" Your complaint was stopped by a particularly strong _frisson_ that traveled from your arm down and back again. You bit your bottom lip. It wasn't the time. It wasn't the place. You pulled your arm away, rubbing your still sore wrist. You shook your head at his stammered apology. "I just--I can't handle it. When you do that. The--thing."

"The thing?" If it was a different time, you'd be amused at the look of confusion on his face. 

"The--spark. Thing. That you do." You hated how the look of confusion melted into a knowing smirk, then a chuckle. "Oh shut up," you said sourly. "Just--don't."

"Noted," he said. There was a silence between you for a little bit before he asked, "You said that--Shane was there?"

"Someone made up like him," you said, deliberately not meeting what you were sure was a look of concern. "Got the cologne right, got the hair and eyes right--messed up on the nomenclature of the flowers." It was hard not to want to cry. You were tired of having your emotions and memories used against you. 

"I'm not even gonna pretend I know what that--" He tilted his head to one side. "I gotta go," he said. He must be wearing some sort of ear piece. "It sounds like all hell is breaking loose. Can I--will you be ok? Here? On your own?"

You nodded. You were relieved to be fair; you didn't know how much more you could take of the earnest look of concern on his face. You watched as he settled his mask on his face. It was--helpful. You didn't have the desire to throw yourself in his arms. You could separate 'Seth' from the grim Arcitech. 

"Try and rest," you heard from his now modulated voice. "It's safe here, no-one can get in who's not supposed to."

"So I've been told," you said. You could feel the corner of your mouth turn up a little. It was just then that you caught the searing stench of sulfur and smoke. The Architect seemed to disappear in a sooty circle, leaving you alone.

All that was left was the crackling of the police scanner, the occasional whir of a hard-drive in one of the many computers in the room. There were so many thoughts running in your mind. Thoughts about Shane, thoughts about Seth, thoughts about Bálor, thoughts about what would have happened to you if that needle had ended up in your arm. 

Three count, breathe in, four count, breathe out. Four breathe in, five breathe---

You hiccupped once. They you started to cry. You cried until you couldn't cry any more. 

 

And then it was dark.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience

There was always one smell that would wake you from a dead sleep. It wasn't fresh bread, or exhaust fumes, or even frying bacon. No, the one thing that would have you scrambling for cover out of a dead sleep was the scent of smoke and sulfur. No-one in their right mind wanted to be around when the Demon was out and about and when you smelt that in the dream you were having, your eyes snapped open. 

You were actually kind of grateful for the point in time you were interrupted because you really didn't want to try and examine what on earth was going on in your subconscious because you were dreaming about Seth with his hair loose in a flowing white shirt halfway open to expose his chest and wearing the tightest pair of tan pants knowing to man sweeping you off your feet in your mauve color gown, hair with flower shaped clips and his lips traveling up your neck. No. You really didn't want to decipher at all why you were dreaming about something out of the worst Fabio-inspired bodice ripper cover ever created. No. 

Instead, you woke to a darker room than you'd clearly fallen asleep in. The monitors were on, though several of them were filled with static. The police monitor was buzzing with reports of power outages, car crashes and general mayhem. But you were alone in the room, or so it appeared. 

"I can smell you Bálor," you said quietly. "Don't think I can't."

"You're an observant one, I'll give ye that." You could hear the voice from one of the dark corners of the room. 

"Stop patronizing me, I wouldn't know if you didn't make sure I did," you said, though it struck you that maybe he really didn't know his malodorous signature followed him around. 

He came into the dim light. He was in his human 'persona', leather jacket clad and smiling broadly. "Kin never get much past ye, kin I?" 

"What happened to Jax?" you asked.

The smile faded. "Nae in good shape, I kin tell ye that much," he said. "Her cousin's looking after her."

"Her--"

"Reigns. Distant, but blood all the same. Seems she had a change of heart about it all." His smile returned, though not as full as before. "Seems you have that effect on people, litt--lass." 

You didn't know if it was the hard look on your face or you past threat to find a way to kill him if he used that ridiculous name for you again. Maybe it was a bit of both. 

"Rollins sent me to fetch you," he continued. 

You raised an eyebrow. You were sure that even in the low light available, Bálor could decipher the disdain at the term 'fetch'. "Why didn't he come himself?" you asked. You didn't budge from your seat on the bed. 

Bálor clicked his teeth. "He's a tad busy. Don't make it hard, love. He wouldn't have sent me if he'd been able to do it himself."

"The Demon told me, you know," you said. You were slightly satisfied with the blush that stained the Irishman's pale cheeks. 

"I'm well aware what the Demon knows and says," he mumbled. "Also, _he's_ Bálor. _I'm_ Finn."

"I really do not care," you said. "You said Rollins wanted me. For what?"

Bálor held out his hand to you. "It's easier to explain if you see."

It was a few moments more before you took his hand. When you did, you was one of those now-familiar portals open up. Instead of the dark grey land of smoke and cole, you saw the corridor on the other side of the locked door. You looked at the man held between Reigns and Ambrose, each with a wrist in their hands. 

You looked at the Architect. His lower face was covered and you could see the faint glow of green masking his eyes. 

You walked through the portal.

 

"Heya doll, took you long enough."

 

Ambrose had a grin on his face. Reigns looked grim and stern. Between them 'Shane' looked as uncomfortable as you were sure you had when you woke up in a similar position in Bliss' lair. It was still uncanny how much like the real article he looked. The pattern of how the silver grew in his hair, the line of his jaw...

"There's no scars." You moved closer. "On your forehead. Where are they?"

"I got rid of them." He sneered. "I was tired of--"

You shook your head. "Tell them. Tell them why you told me you'd never get rid of them." You leaned forward again, squinting. "You even smell like him, but you're not. Because there's only three people in this world why you would never get rid of them. So tell them. Where did you get them, why you wouldn't get rid of them. Even when I found you three plastic surgeons who could do it. "

Shane glowered at you. You glowered at _him_. 

"They don't need to know about that," he said.

You frowned more. "What? You don't anyone to know about your bodyguard? About what he meant to you?" You knew were skirting a dangerous line. Shane had told you this in confidence and now there were four others who could use this and then they would be in danger too. But it was the only other thing you had.

Shane looked up at you, his unscarred brown furrowing. "What the hell would I care about some bodyguard--"

"Kurt. His name was Kurt." You searched his eyes, looked to see the recognition, for him to ask you not to open up this box, not to use it like this.

You didn't see it.

"I don't know what they used on you...whoever you are." You sighed. "It's not him. It's not. Because he'd have begged me not to go there." You turned your back on the figure on his knees. You didn't have it in you to slap him for this terrible pantomime, It wasn't bad enough everything they'd done, for them to do this was---

You ignored the tears you felt on your face.

You couldn't ignore the burning sulfur in the air. You barely glanced to the side to see what happened. Well, you knew what happened but in reality you wanted to see if you could bring yourself to actually look at the Demon outside of his realm while you were sober. You expected the black skin, the maw of teeth and the red, sinuous tongue, the waving tendrils of his head dress. You even expected the chill in the air. You weren't ready for the creature's words however: 

"I'm quite done with you and yer bullshit. This will teach ye boss nae to mess with what's mine."

What's mine.

 

What's mine.

 

Your blood ran cold as a memory came to you from the wasteland your brain was, something from out of the time when you were trying to stay alive--

_'Stay Alive, little bird'_  
'So cold.'  
'Ye don't get to give up lassie, come on.' 

The scream behind you jolted you out of the memory. You turned to see dark coils of shadow emanating from Balor's outstretched hands. They enveloped the figure on his knees. Both Ambrose and Reigns had jumped back and the Architect stood there, fists clenched and glowing green. 

_Anois bhraitheann fearg Bálor Béimnech, madra._  
_Now feel the rage of Bálor Béimnech, dog._

There was a icy fury in the words you found you could still understand. It seemed the three men in the room understood them as well. You took a step forward but Reigns held you back with a hand to your shoulder. "Let the man work," he said.

"He's not a man," you said, the answer falling almost automatically from your mouth as the shadows around the figure pulled back.

The man laying there was not the one who entered the shadows Balor had now drawn back. His red hair was fading _into_ view, and you wondered what it was that shielded the close-cropped beard from your fingertips. He had diminished in frame, now looking somewhat childlike in the suit he was wearing. 

"Murphy." Reigns' voice was filled with a level of contempt you'd never heard before. He left your side to approach. 

"Your boss knows you're freelancing with Bliss, huh creep?" Ambrose kicked the man in the ribs before pulling him up by the head.

You were confused. Clearly, the other two men knew this man. Did Rollins?

"Just followin' orders," the man, Murphy replied. "Didn't count on Sulphur Breath or Sparky t'get involved."

You couldn't tell if it was Reigns or Ambrose who made the low growl of displeasure. Maybe it was both. But you could tell the wide eyed look of both disbelief and anger in Rollins' eyes. It answered your question from before; Rollins knew him. Or his boss. 

You could feel your hair standing on end as two of most massive bolts of lightning you'd ever seen in your life left The Architect's clenched fists. Even Bálor took a step backwards as the man on the floor was quite literally lit up, back arching up. You were so shocked that you involuntarily turned into the Demon King, not able to watch. You felt a hand on your shoulder and he pulled you closer. 

"Tha's enough," he said. You doubted he was heard over the yelling from both 'Murphy' and the man shocking him. "I said ENOUGH."

The buzzing and loud crackling stopped. There were low moans of pain and the sounds of heavy breathing instead. 

You peeked, lifting your head from off Bálor's chest. Seth's fists were still glowing bright green, his eyes narrowed to slits. You managed to take a few steps away from Bálor towards the Architect, but he was already approaching the man laying prone on the ground. He ripped his mask off, and you gasped as he knelt down. "What are you--you--"

Reigns came over to you again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "He--he works for Hunter," he said softly. "Murphy is one of Helmsley's body men."

Oh. 

 

OH. 

 

"I'm gonna tell you this one time, scumbag," Rollins was saying through clenched teeth. "You go back to your _boss_. You tell him I'm coming for him. Not the Architect. Not Rollins. You tell him I know. YOU TELL HIM--"

You didn't know what to make of the scene in front of you. Helmsley was Seth's mentor, his patron. Helmsley was behind the Bliss Squad. Helmsley had contributed to whatever sorcery that had changed Murphy's face. Helmsley was behind--you didn't want to think about it. 

"Get him out of here." The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. 

"An' what, pray tell, should I tell ye da when I drop 'im off on 'is doorstep?" Bálor sounded almost giddy. You could see him straighten his leather jacket a bit. You hadn't even registered that he'd retaken his human form.

Seth snarled as the Irishman grabbed Murphy off the floor. "He's not my fucking _da_ ," he spat with a hatred you hadn't heard from anyone in a very long time. "Besides, he'll know."

All of you saw a neon green streak leave the area. Reigns tightened his arm around your shoulders. You looked up at him. 

"He's just running it off before he loses his temper more," he explained. "Seen it before. He gets sloppy when he works mad."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. It's what you've all been waiting for. Fair warning: consensual adult activity.

You were back in the room you'd started in, after Reigns--Roman--had opened the door the proper way from that side of the chamber. He'd stayed with you for a little bit, explaining the dynamic that had created The Shield, the trio he, Ambrose and Rollins had been before. It was before the procedures that happened that had given Seth his powers, it was before Ambrose ended up in the Underground and he'd been cowed into submission by Heyman. Three men, driven by the need to fight for justice, for the underdogs, for what was right especially when those who should have been protectors weren't. 

"So how did I fall into all of this?" you asked. "I mean...Ambrose said--"

"Yeah, ol' Dean-o likes to run his mouth and it's easy to be bitter about but yeah. That ain't all of it," Reigns said. "We knew there was something bad going down, long before Seth--"

The grinding noise startled you again. Reigns chuckled as you bounced to your feet. 

"Hyper-vigilance isn't always bad, baby girl," he said, "but how many times we gotta tell you, ain't nobody comin' in here that ain't supposed to be here?"

"I've heard it before," you said as The Architect came into view. You sat back down as Reigns approached his friend. He placed a hand on his shoulder, rested his forehead against the shorter man's. You couldn't hear what was said between them. You could see The Architect's eyes wander to you. You gave him a slight smile, not certain what all was going on. You hadn't had enough time to process, to formulate what could come next. There had to be a next. Hunter Hearst Helmsley was behind the bliss Squad. Behind the unrest. It could be that he was behind--

"I'll rally the troops," Reigns said. "You stay here with the baby girl. Get your head on straight. Ambrose and I know what to do."

You opened your mouth to protest, but The Architect beat you to the punch. "I need to be on the--"

"You need to get your head back on and focus, li'l brother," Reigns said. "Rollins--. I know you. How long do we think we all have? A few hours?"

"Possibly." It took a few moments more before Seth removed the mask over his face. "If he plugged that fake drive into his system, maybe a day."

"Isn't your system here powered off his mainframe?" you asked. You felt your face get red was both men regarded you. "I mean--I would have thought--"

Seth smiled wryly. "Nah," he said. "Hunter always hated this--I built my own system. Lately, that's been a blessing."

"Remember what I told you," Reigns said. You were sure that he was talking to Seth, but you saw him turn his head and regard you. There was something in his gaze that struck you as almost...familial. He gave Rollins a playful nudge to his head. Then he came over to you. Your eyes were wide when he leaned down and bumped the top of your head with this. "Stay out of trouble," he told you before leaving and 'locking' the door behind him with a slow grind. 

Seth looked ragged. His hair was wild and unkempt and you could smell him from where you stood. Workout sweaty but with a hint of spice and damp leather that left you with that confused-not so confused feeling you often got when he was tucked in behind you in bed at night. You watched his nose wrinkle, as if he was catching a whiff of himself. Clearly, it wasn't as intriguing to him as it was to you. 

"Ugh I need a shower," he mumbled and you felt one of your eyebrows raise. 

"What?"

"You have a shower in here?" you asked. It only seemed to confirm one of your first suspicions when you entered this room. That was clarified even more when he blushed. 

"Runs on solar and reclaimed water," he said. "Pretty proud of it. Wanted to market it but..." his voice trailed off. He looked away and you saw the pinched look on his face. "Never mind."

"Don't use all the hot water," was what you replied. You probably weren't much better for wear then he was. 

His eyes opened comically wide, as if he was seeing you for the first time. "Fuck--I'm sorry. You should go first," he immediately said even as you were shaking your head. You could make do with a washcloth and some cool water. But then he was in your space and the look on his face wasn't sheepish at all. 

"How many times do you have to be told that you need to take care of yourself?" he said angrily. "All I did was run and fight some goons, you got chained up and beat and if I had any damned sense I would have had Roman make you take one."

"Because I'm going to trust some seven foot tall Samoan I barely know while I'm in the shower naked?" you shot back. "Besides, what am I gonna wear?"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I live here, I would have found you something!" he half-shouted.

You smiled a little when he admitted it.

"What!?" he snapped.

"Nice underground lair," you said with a slight smirk. "You don't happen to have food down here too?"

He changed from irritation to sheepishness. "Well, if you don't mind protein bars and a couple of frozen Trifecta meals," he said, scratching his head. 

That part that confused you was that he could go from hardened grown man to bashfully boyish in less than a heartbeat--which made you conflicted at watching how his bicep moved as he scratched his head. You were old. Compared to him, you were practically ancient and yet--

"ARRGH get off me, you smelly punk!" He'd wrapped his arms around you and smashed his sweaty face against your neck. You smacked him repeatedly, trying not to laugh and failing. "What the hell!?"

"Now you're dirtier. Off to the shower with you." The grin on his face was of the boyish variety, all slightly chipped front teeth and scrunched up nose. He had one arm around your waist, pulling you up against him as he laughed with you. For a moment. Then it went to chuckling. Then he was quiet, his dark brown eyes locked on yours. 

"What?" You barely heard your own whisper. 

"God, your eyes are so pretty," he said. 

It made you tremble. You didn't try to hide it. "We shouldn't..."

"We both wanna." His mouth moved closer, close enough where you could feel them moving against yours. "You kissed me...before..."

"You kissed me first," you protested in a breathy voice. It sounded lame, even to you.

He ran his nose along yours. "Nope," he said, his voice a low, deep sort of baritone that sent that shiver of sensation up your spine. "You definitely kissed me first. You kissed my neck."

"You kissed my ear..."

"I was telling you it was gonna be ok, _you_ kissed my neck..."

"You didn't stop me..."

He pressed his lips against yours. You supposed it was to try and shut you up but it didn't feel like it. It felt like the first time, multiplied about ten thousand. His lips were softer than you expected, and he tasted like coffee and cream and vanilla. 

You hadn't realized you closed your eyes until you opened them. His were nearly black with the way the pupils were dilated out. You could see how his nostrils were flaring as he breathed, feel two different types of trembling--you could tell the shift from him holding himself back--to letting himself go as he crashed his mouth down on yours. It had been gentle and tender just moments before but now, you felt like he was charging you up with energy. You could feel it crawling over your skin, making you gasp against his lips. 

"Please." He sounded so earnest, so damned _young_ but the body pressed against your was anything but.

You felt yourself shuffling backwards. You opened your eyes, stopping both your movements. 

His cheeks were bright red. His eyes glowed bright green. "I wanna--I thought--we could--" You watched his Adam's apple bob. "Shower. Together. Save water?" The last was asked with a slight smirk, but his eyes were so filled with hope and--need? Desire?

"Well," you said after a long silence, "you did manage to get me all sweaty and gross. It's only polite that you should help get me clean." You kissed him this time. Soft and sweet. You trailed your fingertips along his bearded jaw, which only caused a low moan to rumble from his throat. You were growing to like that sound. 

The bathroom was small; a shower stall, small sink and toilet. Like the rest of the corridors, it was all silver and blue LED but the showerstall was what interested you at the moment. It looked just big enough for two--just. It was simple, utilitarian.

You would have studied it some more, if you didn't hear a light 'thud' and turned to see that Seth was now shirtless. And--very--shirtless. With dark hair artfully plastered to his pecs and six--no. That was an eight pack. At least. And yet he didn't have a 'v' shaped torso. "Dear God," you whispered.

Your head tipped up. He was smiling down at you. "May I?" he asked.

 _What the hell are you doing?_ Reality picked a good time to smack you in the face. _You're a--he's old enough to be your--OK NO he's not old enough to be your son but he's certainly much too young and you're--look at you--scarred up, saggy--_ There was a litany of reason why this was so very wrong and then whiskers were tickling your neck and hands were sliding under the thin shirt you wore. 

"Please?"

Damn, if he didn't know how to get to you because it wasn't just his hands, it was that damned teasing spark he dragged along your skin. Now that he knew what it did to you, he wasn't going to play fair with it. You gasped softly as his fingers moved up your sides, as they coaxed your arms up. You felt your shirt slip over your head, but you automatically crossed your arms over your chest. 

"You know I think you're beautiful, right?" he said as you saw him toss your shirt to one side. 

You shook your head. "I know I think you're just trying to be kind," you retorted.

He snorted then pulled you as close as he could manage. Manage because of what you felt thick across your now bare stomach. You could feel the line of heat, the thickness, the length, his gasp. 

"That's not 'kindness'," he whispered in a wavering voice. "That is me, telling you that I want you. YOU. But, we don't have to---"

You reached up to thread your hands through his thick, dark hair to pull him down to kiss. You felt him return that kiss and then hop on one foot to try and pull off a boot. Try, until he almost fell over and you both collapsed in laughter again. 

He reached over, brushed his knuckles along your cheek. "I want this," he said. "I want you. I have for a long time and yeah...I know you can't let him go. I'm not asking you to just--we don't know what's gonna happen in the next few hours. I--I don't want it to go ass over teakettle without _knowing_."

And back to boyish, almost innocent, charm. You really wanted to hate him for making you feel, much less feel this. This time, he used your shoulder to steady himself to pull one boot, then the other off. You smoothed your hands along his sides, letting your fingertips push just under the waistband of the tight, black pants he wore. You moved your hands around, undoing the clasp just under his navel, smiling as you felt the muscles moving slightly and his softly gasped 'Jesus' as your nails barely grazed his skin. Lips pressed together again as your hand slid into the slight gap, hand flat on his hip as he didn't bother undoing your jeans. His hand pushed down under your pants, cupping one cheek of your ass in it and squeezing gently as you pushed his pants down. 

You were both panting as you hurried to undress each other, bashfulness pushed aside once your bare skin met. The kisses were desperate, needy and you moaned softly when you felt him fully naked against you. It seemed to take forever to turn on the shower, to get the water temperature settled. You were determined to actually look at him, all of him, when he got into the shower and under the water. 

Your self-admonition was one of the most brilliant ideas you'd ever had. 

'Adonis' was a poor turn of phrase. He was a solid mass of a human male. His thighs were thick, the trail of hair from under his navel got darker and thicker until his pubis, where it was neatly trimmed. He noticed you watching and the cocky smirk lit back on his face as he pushed his wet hair out of his face. He leaned back against the wall of the shower, the position putting his body in the most perfect stance to take a good, long look. It was enough for you to stop being self conscious about your own body and to step into the stall. You were sure that he expected you to drop to your knees, which was what most women probably did when faced with the pure aesthetic of that body.

If you were a 'size queen', it would be a disappointment. But if you were an actual, real world woman...really, how much more perfect could a man be built? His sac looked like a ripe peach, would fit in your hand perfectly. The shaft---not too thick, not too skinny, the wide head that you could already feel tugging at you. With water cascading down every plane and muscular cut...

You stepped under the water with him. It was gloriously warm, almost on the verge of too hot. You smiled at him as you wrapped your hand around his mostly hard dick. The water made your palm glide along him and you were rewarded with a low moan of pleasure. You closed the door of the shower stall while still stroking him slowly, at least until he pinned you against the wall, kissing you deeply. You weren't going to be denied your goal though. You hated shower sex. It was never as sensual or romantic they made it look on TV or the movies. There was always near misses with falls, a back bashed into the soap dish, one of you always ending up out of the water and freezing. 

But a slow handjob under warm water? Something to take the edge off of a younger man who probably still possessed a decent refractory time (possibly faster with his super-powered metabolism) so that he lasted longer later on? 

"You're killing me," he whispered in your ear. One of his hands started to brush between your legs but you smacked his hand away. Never mind that you hadn't exactly been worried about trimming or shaving your nether regions. Between staying alive in the Underground and trying to get your life back--grooming your lady parts weren't a big priority. 

"No. My turn now. Your turn later." You kissed his shoulder as he slumped back against the wall. 

The water and his occasional moans were all the accompaniment you needed. It was--serene. He would whisper your name once or twice, then go back to his shaky breaths and moans, tensing up and pushing into your hand on occasion. There was something about watching him take this--no. Accept this from you. He would force his eyes open to watch, either watch your hand traveling up and down his now rigid cock or to gaze at you in what appeared to be helpless arousal. Hissing when you twisted your wrist just so to increase the friction on him, or squeezing the base of his cock to torture him just a little. 

Soon his hand was on yours, guiding you, trying to get you to move faster, grip him harder. His neck was arched back so much the top of his head was against the shower wall. Seth let himself get lost in this, was giving himself over to you. Whispering at first, then crying out on every stroke that he was close, so close--

You'd never really watched a man orgasm like this. There was such a vulnerability to him, one you'd never seen before. His issue left the tiny hole in thick, ropey threads, quickly washed away by the warm water falling down on both of you. You watched his breathing slow and his body relax. He pulled you closer, kissing you softly.

"You said, my turn next," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you. 

"We're going to need another shower when you're done," you pointed out. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of your little green initiative here?"

"Reclaimed water, remember?" he replied. "Besides, I don't mind. I like water."

"Which is sort of ironic, if you think about it."

He gave you a look. You grinned.

"Smart ass." Your retort was swallowed by Seth's kisses. He reached behind you to turn the water off. "I'm not even close to being done," he said. "Not--even--wow." 

You had already grabbed a towel but stopped as he stared at you, still dripping wet. "What?"

"Oh nah nah nah, stop hiding," he mumbled. He wrapped a towel around his own waist, before pulling yours away. "Let me look..."

You'd glanced yourself in the mirror before, since you'd left the Underground. Track marks littered your arms. You were gaunt. Skin drawn. Breasts starting to sag. You weren't some nubile young sexpot. You didn't know what on earth he was looking at, certainly not with that expression on his face.

Seth took the towel from your hands. He knelt down in front of you. "Allow me," he said as he leaned you against the vanity and started drying you off. He often stopped to press kisses against your skin: at the bend of your knee, on your hip bone, in the center of your chest. By the time he made it back to your lips, you were shivering and it had nothing to do with being cold. 

He took your hand and lead you back to the main 'room'. You'd grown used to the background noises, the beeps and boops of the equipment, the static of the scanners. He brought you over to the small cot, then moved to one of the consoles. He pressed a few buttons and almost everything shut down. There was a low grinding from the outside. "Security lockdown," he explained, making his way back to your side. "Not even the biometric locks from the outside will work."

"Why do you need--"

"Because the only person with worse timing than Roman Reigns is Dean Ambrose and I am not taking the chance of being interrupted by either one of those idiots," he said, cutting any other questions you had off with a deep, hard kiss as he leaned you back. "Now. I think I was going to take my turn, thanks very much..." He managed to get the towel that was wrapped around his waist off. After that, there wasn't much coherent going on in your brain.

His mouth was incredible. He took such care when he went down on you, and you didn't know what it was he used on his beard to make it as soft as it was, but you thanked many deities for it and you planned on taking some of your meager funds to invest in it. Butterfly kisses, nips of teeth, his tongue teasing along your clit before diving into you--Seth Rollins either had a lot of practice (which made you irrationally jealous) or was playing out a long held fantasy he'd had that involved taking you apart piece by piece until you were begging for release. 

Twice.

When he finally pulled himself away (with an exaggerated wipe of his chin to boot) and kissed you again, all you cared about was having him inside you. Really, what you cared about was giving him a quarter of the pleasure he'd just given you, but him being inside you was sort of important to that goal. 

Your first impression of his 'equipment' was very correct _not too big, not too small, just right_. Just long enough, just thick enough, just the right hardness, just the _oh my god that thing he just did with his hips...._ He had you cradled in his strong arms, barely moving, as if he wanted to have as much of his skin pressed against you as possible. His forehead would rest against yours, you'd share gentle kisses, he'd whisper how good you felt under him...

"You know I didn't start out trying to get you into bed, right?" he gasped when you pushed against him because he was being entirely too slow for your liking. 

"You mean laughing at your own jokes is just standard operating procedure for you?" you replied, then dragged your teeth along his earlobe. You smiled when he swore and trembled over you. 

"I dunno--how much longer--"

"Then don't--don't--" You could feel your nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders as you felt him speed up, as the sound of skin striking skin reached your ears. Even then, he didn't make the same motion twice, and then you stopped noticing as your back bowed from the intensity of the orgasm screaming through you. You could it feel all up and down your skin, through your body, sharp and twisting. You didn't even realize that he'd pulled out and was rutting against you until you felt the first, hot splash of his ejaculate hitting your pubis and even that seemed to make your own pleasure stretch out. 

Your combined panting was the only noise in the room for a long time. The occasional shuffling as he moved to kiss your neck, or as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

You were both quiet as you wordlessly got up from the cot you were on. You held hands as you headed back to the bathroom, giving each other a bit of privacy to use the toilet before coming back together in the shower. This time it was about getting clean, though you helped each other with that. He chuckled as you struggled on tip-toe to wash his mane of curly, dark hair. You leaned against him as he washed yours. Drying off was far less charged, more comfortable, surprising like you'd done it before and not for only the second time. It was difficult to try and hide your body from someone who'd spent as much time as he just had in, on, over and under it, after all. 

The cot wasn't completely uncomfortable, but it was a tighter fit that either one of you were used to. After a while you both gave up, pulling blankets and cushions onto the floor to make a makeshift pallet to lay on together. You didn't think you'd actually miss the rickety twin you two managed to squeeze onto in the middle of the night. 

"What now?" you asked quietly. You were dressed in an old t-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel boxers that only stayed on because you were laying down. He was shirtless with a pair of sleep pants that looked soft and worn. Your head rested on his shoulder, his fingers were toying with the fine hair at the nape of your neck. 

"It won't be long, before Hunter tries something. Take you, break into Mick's--break into here." He sighed. "I'm not that dumb, he knows about this place, even if he doesn't know how to get through the security system yet." His sigh was heavy. "What does he want though? What difference does that information make to him?"

"Forced partnership with his father-in-law?" you offered. "He doesn't need--HIS--money. He does need his influence. He can get doors open. Get people to take notice."

"You're gonna need to say his name one of these days," Seth reminded you gently. He pressed his lips to the top of your head. 

You frowned, ignoring the tightness in your chest at the thought of the older man's face. "Only if I have to," you replied. 

"Come on, rest...we're gonna be short on it until this is all over." He pulled a fluffy blanket over the two of you. Truth be known, his body heat was more than enough to keep you warm but there was a comfort in the action you liked. 

"Seth?"

"Hmm?"

"Now that you know..." He'd mentioned that he didn't want whatever was going to happen to happen without knowing, you assumed, what it felt like to have sex with you. You felt him kiss the top of your head. 

"I'm glad. Gives me incentive."

You furrowed your brow. "For what?" you asked.

"...round two."

You swore you could hear him waggling his eyebrows. 

 

Ass.

 

You listened to the soft burr of Seth's snoring in the dark. You knew that there was really only one way to end all of this. With the knowledge that Hunter Hearst Helmsley was behind the Bliss Squad, your policy of 'follow the money' lead to one place in your mind: Vincent Kennedy McMahon. The question now became was Helmsley working on his own accord for the forced partnership that you imagined, or at the behest of the old man?

Your primary role in your chosen profession was at its core, organization. You examined records. You examined numbers. You made sure that they were in their proper places and recorded accurately. A 9 transposed to a 6, a decimal in the wrong spot, a modified date, all of these things made a difference. The idea you'd given Seth, that Helmsley didn't need McMahon's money poked at you; Helmsley International was just as cash heavy as McMahon, but there were avenues the old man had access to that couldn't be bought. Or given. He wouldn't give it to his own son....

Seth slept fitfully next you, only calming when he turned on his side and draped his arm around your waist. It helped keep the tears from falling. _I know you can't let him go. I'm not asking you to..._ You looked up in the dark, searching for what? A sign? Permission? Forgiveness? _Is this what you wanted for me, baby?_ you asked a spectre that you didn't always entirely believed was there. 

"I can hear you thinking about him, you know." 

You turned your head. You could just about make out his face in the darkness. 

"It's OK," he said, pulling you closer.

"Is it?" you asked. You nuzzled into his neck as his arms came around your shoulders, as his thumb stroked your neck. "You want me laying next you thinking about--" Your voice trailed off. You couldn't say it. His arms tightened around you. "You don't deserve that," you croaked out. "Or someone broken and dirty and--"

His lips stopped your words. "You don't deserve to be treated like some kind of glorified chess piece, but here we are," Seth said. "We get through the day the best we can."

You snorted. "You should punch whoever told you that," you said.

"I don't hit women."

You pulled back. "What?"

"I said, I don't hit women." He reached out brushed your face with his fingertips. "I certainly don't hit ones who know who do that thing that you do with your tongue on the--um...yeah." 

You hated that you not only knew he was probably blushing, but that you _liked_ that he was. 

"Go to sleep, Jo," he said, coaxing you back onto your back and against his side. "It's not gonna be long. Rest while we can, right?"

"Seth?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad I know, too."

You closed your eyes as he kissed the top of your head.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read any of my other wrestling fic, if you squint just right, you might recognize Jo from the [Drops of Jupiter](http://archiveofourown.org/series/676463) series.


End file.
